Stave Two（第5/7页）

There were more dances，and there were forfeits，and more dances，and there was cake，and there was negus，and there was a great piece of cold roast，and there was a great piece of cold boiled，and there were mince-pies，and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after the roast and boiled，when the fiddler （an artful dog，mind！the sort of man who knew his business better than you or I could have told it him！） struck up “ Sir Roger de Coverley.” Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple，too；with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them；three or four-and-twenty pair of partners；people who were not to be trifled with；people who would dance，and had no notion of walking.

But if they had been twice as many—ah，four times—old Fezziwig would have been a match for them，and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to her，she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. If that’s not high praise，tell me higher，and I’ll use it. A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig’s calves. They shone in every part of the dance like moons. You couldn’t have predicted，at any given time，what would become of them next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance—advance and retire，both hands to your partner，bow and curtsy，corkscrew，thread-the-needle，and back again to your place—Fezziwig “ cut ”—cut so deftly，that he appeared to wink with his legs，and came upon his feet again without a stagger.

When the clock struck eleven，this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations，one on either side of the door，and shaking hands with every person inpidually，as he or she went out，wished him or her A Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two ’prentices，they did the same to them；and thus the cheerful voices died away，and the lads were left to their beds；which were under a counter in the back shop.

During the whole of this time，Scrooge had acted like a man out of his wits. His heart and soul were in the scene，and with his former self. He corroborated everything，remembered everything，enjoyed everything，and underwent the strangest agitation. It was not until now，when the bright faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them，that he remembered the ghost，and became conscious that it was looking full upon him，while the light upon its head burned very clear.

“ A small matter，”said the ghost，“ to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.”

“ Small！” echoed Scrooge.

The spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices，who were pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig；and when he had done so，said—

“ Why！Is it not ？ He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money；three or four，perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this praise ？ ”

“ It isn’t that，” said Scrooge，heated by the remark，and speaking unconsciously like his former，not his latter，self. “ It isn’t that，spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy；to make our service light or burdensome；a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks；in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count ’em up—what then ？ The happiness he gives is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.”

He felt the spirit’s glance，and stopped.

“What is the matter ？ ” asked the ghost.

“ Nothing particular，”said Scrooge.

“ Something，I think ？ ” the ghost insisted.

“ No，” said Scrooge. “ No. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now. That’s all.”

His former self turned down the lamps as he gave utterance to the wish；and Scrooge and the ghost again stood side by side in the open air.

“ My time grows short，” observed the spirit. “ Quick！”

This was not addressed to Scrooge，or to any one whom he could see，but it produced an immediate effect. For again Scrooge saw himself. He was older now；a man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years；but it had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice. There was an eager，greedy，restless motion in the eye，which showed the passion that had taken root，and where the shadow of the growing tree would fall.

He was not alone，but sat by the side of a fair young girl in mourning-dress；in whose eyes there were tears，which sparkled in the light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.

“ It matters little，” she said softly. “ To you very little. Another idol has displaced me；and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come，as I would have tried to do，I have no just cause to grieve.”

“ What idol has displaced you ？ ” he rejoined.

“ A golden one.”

‘‘ This is the even-handed dealing of the world！” he said. “ There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty；and there is nothing it professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth！”