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Faith Moore
Hello and welcome to the Storytime for Grown Ups Christmas Spectacular. I'm Faith Moore and for the month of December, we'll be reading A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Each episode I'll read one chapter from the book, pausing from time to time to give brief explanations so it's easier to follow along. It's like an audiobook with built in notes. So brew a pot of tea or a mug of hot chocolate, find a cozy chair, throw another log on the fire and settle in. It's story time. Welcome back to the Week Before Christmas. Can you believe it? It is the week before Christmas and there are only two staves left of this book. I cannot believe it. We are about to read Stave 4 of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Welcome. I'm so glad that you're here. Thank you for being here with me to celebrate the Christmas season with this amazing book. And thank you to all of you who've been writing in with your questions and your comments and your thoughts and just your your compliments and your kind letters. I really do appreciate it. It's made my December so joyful and I'm thrilled. So some of you, many of you have been asking, what are we reading next? And I feel like that is a valid question because as I say, we are almost done. We have today's episode, we've got one more chapter after that and then there will be one final Christmas Carol episode, that' kind of wrap up episode where we talk about Stave 5 because we won't have been able to talk about it until we read it. So we will talk about Stave 5 in a concluding episode and we'll wrap up kind of all of the things that we've been talking about on Monday, December 23rd. And so that will be the final episode of A Christmas Carol. And then what's next? So I am not going to tell you right now what we are going to be reading next. If you're new here, I like to keep you all in suspense. And then I drop a trailer into your podcast feed and that lets you know what the next book is. So the trailer for season three of Storytime for Grown Ups, our January book, will drop on Saturday, December 21st. So make sure that you're subscribed because then it will just appear automatically in your podcast feed and you can check it out. So that's when you'll get to know what book we're reading. So then in that final episode on December 23rd, we'll talk a little bit about that. And then the podcast will take a quick break for the holiday. So we'll take off until January 2nd, and that's when we'll come back for season three. Three. And that episode will be an introduction episode to our new book, like we did at the start of A Christmas Carol, like we did at the start of Pride and Prejudice and all of the books. I like to do a little intro where we just have a quick kind of overview of the historical context that we might be entering, the author, stuff like that. So we will do that on January 2nd for our new book. And then the following Monday is when the book will actually start. So mark your calendar for that trailer coming out on the 21st of December. I cannot wait for you guys to hear what this book is. I really am wondering what you're going to think about it. I'm very. I'm nervous, but I'm also excited. So when that trailer drops, please do write in and tell me what your thoughts are about this book. And that book will take us through till the summer. So that'll be season three of this podcast. And then we move into something that I call Summer Session. And we'll talk much more about that later. And then we'll come back in September with another book after that. So many more books to come. But I just wanted to let you know what's coming because I have been getting a lot of emails lately about, well, what are we reading next? What happens next? So keep your eye out for that trailer, make sure you're subscribed. And if you've been enjoying this show, and I hope you have been, if you've been enjoying it, please consider just tapping the five stars in your podcast player. And also if you have a couple of extra seconds, just leaving it a positive review. Those things really help the show to grow. It helps other people to find the show and their podcast players. It gets recommended to them via some sort of algorithm that I don't really understand. And also, if you know someone that you think might like this show, they maybe might like this Christmas Spectacular or you think that they would like to keep listening on into January, just copy a link to the show. You can just do that in your podcast player or hit copy link and then text it or email it or whatever to that person and tell them you think you might like it. Because that's another really great way to grow the show. And the show is growing and I cannot wait for the new year. Just one more quick reminder before we get into the recap and our question and then the chapter check the show notes. There's a lot of links in there. I'm not going to go into everything right now, but you can find our merch store. You can find information about my book and some things that I'm giving away this December and all that stuff. So the show notes are just the description of this episode. So when you click on the episode and then you scroll down and it tells you what the episode is about, you will find several links there. And I just recommend that you take a look because there might be something there that you want to click. And if there isn't, that's going completely fine, too. You are welcome here whether you click on links or not. I'm just glad that you're here to listen. So last time we read Stave 3 of A Christmas Carol. So we're going to talk a little bit about what happened in that chapter, and then I have a great question, a really juicy one this time. So we're going to talk about that, and then we'll move on to the chapter. So here is the recap. So where we left off. Scrooge wakes up again and waits around for the next spirit, but finally realizes that he's actually in the next room. So he gets up and he finds a giant man in a green fur coat that's trimmed with white. And he's sitting amongst all kinds of food and drink, and there's a huge fire roaring, and he's laughing, and he's telling Scrooge to come in and get to know him. So this is the spirit of Christmas Present. And he takes Scrooge all over the place, and he shows him that even the poorest people are joyful and kind and grateful on Christmas Day. And everyone is reaching out to other people. The spirit has a torch which he uses to sprinkle goodwill over everyone. And Scrooge is now more willing to learn from the spirits, and he's paying attention to everything he sees. And so they end up at the house of Scrooge's clerk, Bob Cratchit. And even though the family is very poor, it's a kind of rollicking scene with all the children running around everywhere and Mrs. Cratchit bustling around and trying to cook the meal. And we learn that Bob has a son who is crippled, and the son is named Tiny Tim, and he's very weak and he has to walk with a crutch. And so the Cratchits eat their Christmas dinner. They're very appreciative of the food, even though there isn't much. And we learn that the children of the family have to work starting in their kind of early teens so the family can have enough money to survive. Bob Cratchit asks the family to drink a toast to Mr. Scrooge as the founder of the feast. But everyone hates Scrooge because of how badly he treats Bob, and they drink his health, but they don't like it. So Scrooge is very moved by all of this and asks the spirit if Tiny Tim will live. And the spirit says that if nothing changes, he's going to die within a year. The spirit also takes Scrooge to the house of Scrooge's nephew, where he and the wife that Scrooge disapproves of because she has no dowry are having a wonderful time with their friends. And they all talk and laugh about how miserly Scrooge is. And his nephew says that he feels sorry for him and that he'll come and wish him a merry Christmas every single year. Scrooge really enjoys this party and tries to join in with the games, and he wants to stay longer. But as his time with the spirit comes to a close, Scrooge notices that there is something in the spirit's robes, and the spirit pulls them aside to reveal two horribly starved and dirty children. And these children are apparently ignorance and want. And the spirit tells Scrooge that these are man's children and that he should beware of them both, but most of all, ignorance. Scrooge asks if these children have no refuge, and the spirit spits Scrooge's words about workhouses back in his face. The spirit of Christmas Present then suddenly disappears, and a strange phantom starts making its way towards Scrooge. So that's where we left him. In the street on a cold winter's night with a phantom approaching him. Okay, so today's question comes to us from Michelle Watson. Michelle writes, I've noticed that Dickens often includes characters in his books that are the opposite of Scrooge, rather flawless and saintly, such as Bob Cratchit and Tiny Tim. I call them angel characters because they are morally upright and pure. They often suffer at the hands of the flawed characters, yet remain steadfast in their goodness and forgive their oppressors. I'm wondering what you have to say about these angel characters. Part of me loves them because they do what is right, even when it's hard. Another part of me feels like they are unrealistic and too good to be true. For the most part, though, I love them because they are aspirational they inspire me to moral and spiritual heights. It seems like Dickens angels are often humble, not performing heroic deeds in the spotlight, but performing acts of great love in small corners. This is why they appeal to me. Okay, so this is a really astute observation because, as Michelle says, many of the characters we encountered in the last chapter and in this book generally might be considered to be sort of, like, too good to be true, right? They are so good or so steadfast or so grateful for their meager lot or whatever. And I think it would be possible to write these characters off as unrealistic and say, like, oh, come on, a crippled boy who tells his father that he's glad everyone was staring at him in church because maybe it'll help them remember Christ. What little boy says that? Or like a father who wants to toast the health of his horrible, abusive employer because it's Christmas Day and his boss is the founder of the feast. Or a whole family of people as poor as the Cratchits who are so happy to eat their little Christmas feast. Even Belle from two chapters ago, right? Blissfully allowing all these toddlers to climb all over her and pull her hair. I mean, what mother would be happy for her kids to mess up her dress and her hairdo on Christmas Day? So, in one sense, these characters are sort of unbelievable. And one might even say they're sort of annoying, right? Like, too angelic, too perfect and sort saccharine or cheesy or cliche. And outside of Dickens writing, you can find tons of examples of characters who are like that. Like, particularly in stories that revolve around Christmas characters that are horribly saccharine and cheesy and make you want to just gag. Like, do you know that song called the Christmas Shoes? I'm sorry if you love this song. And I will freely admit that I cry every time I hear it, but I am annoyed for crying because the whole song is about how this kid has come to the shoe store to buy shoes for his mom because his mom is about to die and he wants her to look nice when she meets Jesus, but he doesn't have enough money to buy the shoes. I mean, come on. It's too much, right? It's like, please. I mean, first of all, why shoes? I mean, that's super random. Like a dress, maybe. I don't know. But anyway, Christmas stories are full of these kind of maudlin angel children. And even though it might make us cry, I mean, how could you not cry about a kid trying to buy his dying mother anything at all because he Feels she needs to look pretty for Jesus, right? So even though we might cry, we don't like it, right? It feels cheap. It's kind of like a jump scare in a horror movie or something, because it's not realistic. People aren't perfect. They're flawed. Life isn't perfect. Life is flawed. And art depicts life, right? So the people in the art should seem real. But all those angelic little Christmas children are just sort of sad, weird facsimiles of Tiny Tim and all those, like, Hallmark movies where the perfect man is just waiting in his lumberjack hut or wherever for the girl from the city to realize that all she needs is a hot chocolate and a Christmas tree farm or something to make everything all right. All those movies are just trying to conjure up something about Christmas that Dickens did, naturally. And by the way, I don't mean to knock Hallmark movies or anything. They're great for putting on when you wrap your presents. But hopefully we can all agree that they are not Dickens. My point is that when Dickens gives us Tiny Tim and the Cratchit family and Belle amidst her giant brood, or Scrooge's nephew having a wonderful Christmas even though he didn't marry Rich and all the various people like the lighthouse keeper and the sailor and the miner and everybody else, when he gives us these angelic sorts of characters, he isn't trying to just pull at our heartstrings like the Christmas shoes, right? It's not a cheap ploy to get you to cry or a kind of writerly trick to insert emotion into the story without working for it or something. I think Dickens is actually saying something here that's important, and it ties in really nicely with what we've been talking about for a couple of episodes now. So last time we talked about how not only was Scrooge devastated by the realization that he could have been the father, right, that he could have married Belle and then been the one coming home to the raucous cacophony of love. But we also talked about how what makes the scene that Scrooge witnesses so poignant for Scrooge is the fact that Belle knows what she has. She isn't sitting in the living room yelling at all her children to be quiet or sending them to timeout for pulling her dress and messing up her hair. She's not, like, asking for one freaking minute of quiet so she can just think, for goodness sake, and putting everyone in front of their iPads or whatever. She's loving it. She's thrilled to be in the Middle of this chaos. Because this is exactly what she wanted, right? Love, connection, life, all of it. And it's the same with the Cratchits. Right here is this family that's much poorer than Belle and her family. The children have to go to work as soon as they're able. Their clothes are all shabby and falling apart. They often have to pawn things just to make ends meet. They live in a house that's much too small for such a large family. I mean, they're not destitute. They have a home and clothes and food, but they're very poor. And yet they're happy, right? Happy to be there all together for Christmas Day, right? Here's a quote. There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a handsome family. They were not well dressed. Their shoes were far from being waterproof. Their clothes were scanty. And Peter might have known, and very likely did, the inside of a pawnbroker's, but they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another and contented with the time. So just like Belle, they are happy because of the love and connection that they share. Because they are a family and they love each other and they can be together on this day when, as we saw with Martha, they aren't all together like this most of the time. So the meal feels like a feast and the meager fire feels like a huge warm blaze, and the little bit of punch feels like enough. And here again is this rollicking, raucous family, all charging around, looking at the goose and the pudding and the potatoes and rushing around to set the table and scrambling into their seats. And here's tiny timing. Who's clearly dying, right? The spirit tells Scrooge that he will die unless something changes. So here he is, clearly dying and still saying, God bless us, everyone. So here's this family in perfect harmony, instead of all the kids fighting over who will stir the potatoes or refusing to set the table or whining that they don't like goose or whatever. And it's not really realistic, right? I mean, there might be some families who behave like the Cratchits even in similar circumstances. There might be some mothers who behave like Belle in similar circumstances. But I think most mothers in Belle's situation would be frazzled and frustrated and wishing for a moment to themselves. And most families in the Cratchits situation would be much more care worn and depressed and worried for the future. And the kids would be whiny and needy and squabbling or whatever. So what is going on, right? What is Dickens doing Well, here's what I think. I think that even though it may seem sort of sappy and over the top, Dickens is actually showing us a cold, hard truth. And that truth is that in a lot of ways, we are just like Scrooge. We have turned away from the things that matter, even if we actually have what we've always wanted. Scrooge has done it really clearly and really obviously right? He's completely detached himself from everyone around him. He's refused the love that was offered to him. He's pointed his life in the direction of money and gain rather than love and kindness. And he's become a cold, hard, bitter, angry little man. So it's clear. It's obvious. But imagine for a moment that you are a mother, right? Imagine that all you ever wanted was to meet a nice man, get married, make a beautiful home, have as many children as you could, love them and raise them up into good, upstanding men and women. I'm not saying that this is what you should want, that this is the ideal life. I'm not saying that it's just an example, right? So insert any sort of fulfillment that has to do with connection and love, okay? So imagine that this is what you've always wanted. This love, this life, this home, these kids. And then imagine that you get it, right? You find a good man, you get married, you make a home, you have kids. There you are in the thick of it, and what do you do next? What do most of us do? Most of the time, you are annoyed, right? You are stressed. It's Christmas and we have to get presents for all these kids and we don't have enough money or enough room to hide all these gifts until Christmas Day. Or your to do list is getting longer and longer, and the kids are getting wilder and wilder because their excitement about Christmas is ramping up to fever pitch. And suddenly we are screaming at them to just stop. And we are turning on Bluey and going and sitting in the bathroom to have a good cry or whatever, right? Or we're yelling at our husband the minute he walks through the door and throwing a baby at him and storming into the bedroom to look at ourselves in the mirror for a while and wondering how we got here. I mean, fill in your stressful situation of choice, right? We all do this. Some of us more than others, maybe. But anyone who's sitting there thinking, oh, that's not me. I'm never stressed. I never want to admit it to myself. Everything in my house is always perfect is lying because. And this is the point, I think we are all in some way broken. We all know how we're supposed to be or what we want or how we want to behave. And we fall short. Not all the time, and maybe some of us more than others, but we all fall short in some way at some time. And we lose sight of what matters. And we lose sight of the fact of what we truly want. Or if we have what we truly want, we lose sight of the fact that we have it or that we wanted it. You can't escape it. It's the way we are. Call it living in a fallen world or just human nature or whatever you want. That's the way it is. So in that way, we are like Scrooge. I think the book is saying we point our lives towards something material, like money or a job promotion or a trip we want to take or whatever, and forget that, according to this book at least, the thing that matters most is the people we love who love us in return. And more than that, the act of choosing to love and choosing to accept that love in return, to give it freely and to accept it joyfully and without reservation. So these characters, right? The Cratchits, Belle, the miners and the sailors and lighthouse keepers, Scrooge's nephew. These characters might not be realistic, but they are real. They are what we might be if we truly lived into the spirit of how we are meant to be as human beings. They are characters who know what matters, who feel the love around them while it's happening, right? Who remember that this life, these children, this husband, this home, whatever it is, is what they wanted and rejoice in it. It isn't realistic because no one can be like that all of the time. We just can't. We're humans, and humans are prone to negativity and stress and confusion. And the point here is not at all that you are wrong and bad or that you should be angelic like Belle or Bob Cratchit. That's not it at all. Guilt isn't part of this, because guilt is a negative emotion, too. We all get stressed, especially at Christmas time. But just like Tiny Tim hopes that he can be a reminder to people of what really matters, these characters are a reminder to us of what really matters. They are not realistic, necessarily, but they are real. Because what would it look like to elevate love and connection and kindness above everything else? It would look like the Cratchits around the dinner table, right? It would look like Belle in Amidst her millions of kids. It would look like Scrooge's nephew loving his wife and reveling in his friends and finding a kind thought for his mean old Uncle Scrooge. In other words, it would look like love and joy and connection, no matter where you are or what your circumstances. And there's an ache to that, right? An absolute yearning, painful ache. That thing that we are meant to be, that wonderful, perfect thing. We can see it, we can smell it, we can taste it, we can almost touch it. But we fall short of it. Over and over again, we fall short of it. But. And this is the important thing, I think. But we should be striving for it. We should recalibrate our lives to love. We should recenter ourselves around what matters. I think that's what the book is saying, that love and connection and life and kindness and reaching out and all these things should be our North Star, not money or fame or something like that. We have to reach out. We have to work at our relationships. We have to work at joy, work at connection. And if we do that, if we reorient our lives to love, then we get closer to what we're meant to be. And I think these characters, like Belle and Tiny Tim and the Cratchits, I think they show us what that could look like and what it could look like in the real world, right? A world of poverty and grime and pain and loss. Not a Christmas tree farm where hot chocolate is always on tap or whatever. The real world, where we live. So I've gone on and on about this, and I feel I could say so much more. But we should get to the chapter. But write to me and tell me what you think about this. Does it resonate with you? What do you think of these characters who seem too good to be true? Faithkmore.com and click on Contact. I would love to hear from you and also send me your questions and thoughts about this chapter that we're about to read next, because, oh, I love this chapter, too. So write in. I cannot wait to hear from you. All right, let's get started with Stave 4 of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Stave 4. The last of the spirits. The phantom, slowly, gravely, silently approached. When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee. For in the very air through which the spirit moved, it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery. It was shrouded in a deep black garment which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand. But for this, it would have been difficult to detach its figure from the night and separate it from the darkness by which it was surrounded. He felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside him, and that its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew no more, for the spirit neither spoke nor moved. I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas yet to Come, said Scrooge. The spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand. You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened but will happen in the time before us. Scrooge pursued. Is that so, Spirit? The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in its folds, as if the spirit had inclined its head. That was the only answer he received. Although well used to ghostly company, by this time Scrooge feared the silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him, and he found that he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it. The spirit paused a moment as observing his condition and giving him time to recover. But Scrooge was all the worse for this. It thrilled him with a vague, uncertain horror to know that behind the dusky shroud there were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though he stretched his own to the utmost, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great heap of black ghost of the future. He exclaimed. I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me? It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them. Lead on, said Scrooge. Lead on. The night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me. I know. Lead on, spirit. The phantom moved away as it had come towards him. Scrooge followed in the shadow of its dress, which bore him up, he thought, and carried him along. They scarcely seemed to enter the city, for the city rather seemed to spring up about them and encompass them of its own act. But there they were in the heart of it, on change amongst the merchants, who hurried up and down and chinked the money in their pockets and conversed in groups and looked at their watches and trifled thoughtfully with their great gold seals, and so forth, as Scrooge had seen them often. So they're in the London Exchange, a bustling place of business. The spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. Observing that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to their talk. No, said a great fat man with A monstrous chin. I don't know much about it either way. I only know he's dead. When did he die? Inquired another. Last night, I believe. Why? What was the matter with him? Asked a third, taking a vast quantity of snuff out of a very large snuff box. I thought he'd never die. God knows, said the first with a yawn. What has he done with his money? Asked a red faced gentleman with a pendulous excrescence on the end of his nose that shook like the gills of a turkey cock. So this guy's got a sort of hanging wart on the end of his nose? I haven't heard, said the man with the large chin, yawning again. Left it to his company, perhaps? He hasn't left it to me, that's all I know. This pleasantry was received with a general laugh. It's likely to be a very cheap funeral, said the same speaker, for upon my life, I don't know of anybody to go to it. Suppose we make up a party and volunteer. I don't mind going if a lunch is provided, observed the gentleman with the excrescence on his nose. But I must be fed if I make one another laugh. Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all, said the first speaker, for I never wear black gloves and I never eat lunch. But I'll offer to go if anybody else will. When I come to think of it, I'm not at all sure that I wasn't his most particular friend, for we used to stop and speak whenever we met. Buh. Bye. Speakers and listeners strolled away and mixed with other groups. Scrooge knew the men and looked towards the spirit for an explanation. The phantom glided on into a street. Its finger pointed to two persons meeting. Scrooge listened again, thinking that the explanation might lie here. He knew these men also perfectly. They were men of business, very wealthy and of great importance. He had made a point always of standing well in their esteem. In a business point of view, that is, strictly in a business point of view. How are you? Said one. How are you? Returned the other. Well, said the first. Old Scratch has got his own at last. Hey, Old Scratch is the devil. So I am told, returned the second. Cold, isn't it seasonable for Christmas time? You are not a skater, I suppose? No, no. Something else to think of. Good morning. Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation and their parting. Scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised that the spirit should attach importance to conversations apparently so trivial. But feeling assured that they must have some hidden purpose. He set himself to consider what it was likely to be. They could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing on the death of Jacob, his old partner, for that was past and this ghost's province was the future. Nor could he think of anyone immediately connected with himself to whom he could apply them, but nothing doubting that to whomsoever they applied they had some latent moral. For his own improvement, he resolved to treasure up every word he heard and everything he saw, and especially to observe the shadow of himself when it appeared. So he doesn't know why he's being shown all these people, talking about someone who died, but he figures there's something about the situation that will teach him something. So he's going to listen and he's going to watch out for when he might see his future self. For he had an expectation that the conduct of his future self would give him the clue he missed and would render the solution of these riddles easy. He looked about in that very place for his own image. But another man stood in his accustomed corner, and though the clock pointed to his usual time of day for being there, he saw no likeness of himself among the multitudes that poured in through the porch. It gave him little surprise, however, for he had been revolving in his mind a change of life and thought and hoped he saw his new born resolutions carried out in this quiet and dark. Beside him stood the phantom with its outstretched hand. When he roused himself from his thoughtful quest, he fancied from the turn of the hand and its situation in reference to himself that the unseen eyes were looking at him keenly. It made him shudder and feel very cold. They left the busy scene and went into an obscure part of the town where Scrooge had never penetrated before, although he recognized its situation and its bad repute. The ways were foul and narrow, the shops and houses wretched, the people half naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly alleys and archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offence of smell and dirt and life upon the straggling streets and the whole quarter reeked with crime, with filth and misery. Far in this den of infamous resort there was a low browed beetling shop below a penthouse roof where iron, old rags, bottles, bones and greasy offal were bought. Upon the floor within were piled up heaps of rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges, files, scales, weights and refuse. Iron of all kinds, secrets that few would like to scrutinize were bred and hidden in mountains of unseemly rags. Masses of Corrupted fat and sepulchers of bones. So this is a rag and bone shop where people bring all sorts of things to sell and then they're resold at a higher price. Sitting in among the wares he dealt in by a charcoal stove made of old bricks, was a gray haired rascal, nearly 70 years of age, who had screened himself from the cold air without, by a frowzy curtaining of miscellaneous tatters, hung upon a line and smoked his pipe in all the luxury of calm retirement. Scrooge. And the phantom came into the presence of this man just as a woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the shop. But she had scarcely entered when another woman, similarly laden, came in too, and she was closely followed by a man in faded black who was no less startled by the sight of them than they had been upon the recognition of each other. After a short period of blank astonishment in which the old man with the pipe had joined them, they all three burst into a laugh. Let the charwoman alone to be the first. Cried she who had entered first. So a charwoman is a servant who's hired by the day rather than living permanently in someone's house. Let the laundress alone to be the second, and let the undertaker's man alone to be the third. Look here, Old Joe, here's a chance if we haven't all three met here without meaning it. You couldn't have met in a better place, said Old Joe, removing his pipe from his mouth. Come into the parlour. You were made free of it long ago, you know, and the other two ain't strangersstop till I shut the door of the shop. Ah, how it squeaks. There ain't such a rusty bit of metal in the place as its own hinges, I believe. And I'm sure there's no such old bones here as mine. Ha ha. We're all suitable to our calling. We're well matched. Come into the parlor. Come into the parlor. The parlour was the space behind the screen of rags. The old man raked the fire together with an old stair rod, and having trimmed his smoky lamp for it was night, with the stem of his pipe, he put it in his mouth again. While he did this, the woman who had already spoken threw her bundle on the floor and sat down in a flaunting manner on a stool, crossing her elbows on her knees and looking with a bold defiance at the other two. What odds then. What odds, Mrs. Dilber? Meaning what does it matter? Said the woman. Every person has a right to take care of themselves. He always did that's true indeed, said the laundress. No man more so. Why then don't stand staring if you was afraid, woman, who's the wiser? We're not going to pick holes in each other's coats. I suppose that means we're not going to fight about it, are we? No, indeed, said Mrs. Dilber and the man together. We should hope not. Very well then, cried the woman. That's enough. Who's the worse for the loss of a few things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose. No, indeed, said Mrs. Dilber, laughing. If he wanted to keep em after he was dead, a wicked old screw pursued the woman. So an old screw is a miser. Why wasn't he natural in his lifetime? If he had been, he'd have had somebody to look after him when he was struck with death, instead of lying gasping out his last there alone by himself. It's the truest word that ever was spoke, said Mrs. Dilber. It's a judgment on him. I wish it was a little heavier. Judgment, replied the woman. And it should have been, you may depend upon it. If I could have laid my hands on anything else. So this charwoman, this laundress and this undertaker have all taken things from the house of a man who has died and have come to this rag and bone shop to try to sell them. And they've done it because there was no one to stop them. Because the man who died had no friends or family around him, because he wasn't nice or generous in his life. Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me know the value of it. Speak out plain. I'm not afraid to be the first, nor afraid for them to see it. We know pretty well that we were helping ourselves before we met here. I believe it's no sin. Open the bundle, Jo. But the gallantry of her friends would not allow of this. And the man in faded black, mounting the breach, first produced his plunder. It was not extensive. A seal or two, a pencil case, a pair of sleeve buttons, and a brooch of no great value were all they were severally examined and appraised by old Joe, who chalked the sums he was disposed to give for each upon the wall and added them up into a total when he found there was nothing more to come. That's your account, said Jo, and I wouldn't give another sixpence if I was to be boiled for not doing it. Who's next? Mrs. Dilber was next. Sheets and towels, a little wearing apparel, two old fashioned silver teaspoons, a pair of sugar tongs and a few boots. Her account was stated on the wall in the same manner. I always give too much to ladies. It's a weakness of mine, and that's the way I ruin myself, said Old Joe. That's your account. If you asked me for another penny and made it an open question, I'd repent of being so liberal and knock off half a crown. And now undo my bundle, Jo, said the first woman. Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience of opening it, and having unfastened a great many knots, dragged out a large and heavy roll of some dark stuff. What d'ye call this? Said Jo. Bed curtains. Ah, returned the woman, laughing and leaning forward on her crossed arms. Bed curtains. You don't mean to say you took em down, rings and all, with him lying there? Said Joe. Yes I do, replied the woman. Why not? You were born to make your fortune, said Jo, and you'll certainly do it. I certainly shan't hold my hand when I can get anything in it by reaching it out for the sake of such a man as he was. I promise you, Joe. Returned the woman coolly. Don't drop that oil upon the blankets now. His blankets? Asked Joe. Who else do you think? Replied the woman. He isn't likely to take cold without him, I dare say. I hope he didn't die of anything catching. Eh? Said Old Joe, stopping in his work and looking up. Don't you be afraid of that, returned the woman. I ain't so fond of his company that I'd loiter about him for such things if he did. Ah, you may look through that shirt till your eyes ache, but you won't find a hole in it nor threadbare place. It's the best he had, and a fine one too. They'd have wasted it if it hadn't been for me. What d'ye call Wastin of it? Asked Old Joe. Putting it on em to be buried in, to be sure, replied the woman with a laugh. Somebody was fool enough to do it. But I took it off again. If calico ain't good enough for such a purpose, it isn't good for anything. It's quite as becoming to the body. He can't look uglier than he did in that one. Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror as they sat grouped about their spoil in the scanty light afforded by the old man's lamp. He viewed them with a detestation and disgust which could hardly have been greater, though they had been obscene demons marketing the corpse itself. Ha ha. Laughed the same Woman. When Jo, producing a flannel bag with money in it, told out their several games upon the ground. This is the end of it, you see. He frightened everyone away from him when he was alive to profit us when he was dead. Spirit, said Scrooge, shuddering from head to foot, I see, I see. The case of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that way now. Merciful heaven, what is this? He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed and now he almost touched a bed. A bare, uncurtained bed, on which, beneath a ragged sheet there lay a something covered up, which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awful language. So they're suddenly in a room with a dead body. The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy, though Scrooge glanced round it in obedience to a secret impulse, anxious to know what kind of room it was. A pale light, rising in the outer air fell straight upon the bed, and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man. Scrooge glanced towards the phantom. Its steady hand was pointed to the head. The COVID was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon Scrooge's part, would have disclosed the face. He thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it, but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the spectre at his side. Oh, cold, cold, rigid, dreadful death. Set up thine altar here and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command, for this is thy dominion. But of the loved, revered and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. It is not that the hand is heavy and will fall down when released. It is not that the heart and pulse are still, but that the hand was open, generous and true, the heart brave, warm and tender, and the pulse a man's. Strike, shadow, strike, and see his good deeds springing from the wound to sow the world with life immortal. No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge's ears, and yet he heard them when he looked upon the bed. He thought, if this man could be raised up now, what would be his foremost thoughts? Avarice, hard dealing, griping cares? They have brought him to a rich end. Truly. So Scrooge is realizing that in the last reckoning, the thing that matters most is not how much money you hoarded, but whether you loved and were loved. He lay in the dark, empty house with not a man, a woman, or a child, to say that he was kind to me in this or that, or for the memory of one kind word, I will be kind to him. A cat was tearing at the door, and there was a sound of gnawing rats beneath the hearthstone. What they wanted in the room of death, and why they were so restless and disturbed, Scrooge did not dare to think. Spirit, he said, this is a fearful place. In leaving it, I shall not leave its lesson. Trust me. Let us go. Still the ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the head. I understand you, Scrooge returned, and I would do it if I could. But I have not the power, spirit. I have not the power. Again it seemed to look upon him. If there is any person in the town who feels emotion caused by this man's death, said Scrooge, quite agonized, show that person to me, Spirit, I beseech you. The phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment like a wing, and withdrawing it, revealed a room by daylight where a mother and her children were. She was expecting someone, and with anxious eagerness, for she walked up and down the room, started at every sound, looked out from the window, glanced at the clock, tried but in vain to work with her needle, and could hardly bear the voices of the children in their play. At length the long expected knock was heard. She hurried to the door and met her husband, a man whose face was care worn and depressed, though he was young. There was a remarkable expression in it now, a kind of serious delight of which he felt ashamed and which he struggled to repress. He sat down to the dinner that had been hoarding for him by the fire, and when she asked him faintly what news, which was not until after a long silence, he appeared embarrassed how to answer. Is it good, she said, or bad to help him? Bad, he answered. We are quite ruined. No. There is hope yet, Caroline, if he relents, she said, amazed. There is nothing is past hope, if such a miracle has happened. He is past relenting, said her husband. He is dead. She was a mild and patient creature, if her face spoke truth, but she was thankful in her soul to hear it, and she said so with clasped hands. She prayed forgiveness the next moment and was sorry, but the first was the emotion of her heart. What the half drunken woman whom I told you of last night said to me when I tried to see him and obtain a week's delay, and what I thought was a mere excuse to avoid me turns out to have been quite true. He was not only very ill, but dying. Then to whom will our debt be transferred? I don't know. But before that time, we shall be ready with the money. And even though we were not, it would be a bad fortune indeed to find so merciless a creditor in his successor. We may sleep tonight with light hearts, Caroline. So Scrooge asked to see people who felt emotion about the dead man they saw in the room. And so he was taken to this couple who feels glad that the man is dead because they owed the man money and they couldn't pay it back. Yes, soften it as they would. Their hearts were lighter. The children's faces hushed and clustered round to hear. What they so little understood were brighter. And it was a happier house for this man's death. The only emotion that the ghost could show him caused by the event, was one of pleasure. Let me see some tenderness connected with a death, said Scrooge. Or that dark chamber spirit which we left just now will be forever present to me. The ghost conducted him through several streets, familiar to his feet. And as they went along, Scrooge looked here and there to find himself, but nowhere was he to be seen. They entered poor Bob Cratchit's house, the dwelling he had visited before, and found the mother and the children seated round the fire. Quiet, very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as statues in one corner and sat looking up at Peter, who had a book before him. The mother and her daughters were engaged in sewing, but surely they were very quiet, and he took a child and set him in the midst of them. Where had Scrooge heard those words? He had not dreamed them. The boy must have read them out as he and the spirit crossed the threshold. Why did he not go on? The mother laid her work upon the table and put her hand up to her face. The color hurts my eyes, she said. The color. Ah, poor Tiny Tim. Meaning that the color is black because she's sewing mourning clothes. They're better now again, said Cratchit's wife. It makes them weak by candlelight. And I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father when he comes home. For the world. It must be near his time. Past it, rather, Peter answered, shutting up his book. But I think he has walked a little slower than he used these few last evenings, Mother. They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in a steady, cheerful voice that only faltered once, I have known him walk with. I have known him walk with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed. And so have I, cried Peter often. And so have I. Exclaimed another. So had all. But he was very light to carry, she resumed, intent upon her work. And his father loved him so that it was no trouble. No, no trouble. And there is your father at the door. She hurried out to meet him and little Bob in his comforter. He had need of it, poor fellow. Came in. His tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should help him to it most. Then the two young Cratchits got upon his knees and laid each child a little cheek against his face, as if they said, don't mind it, Father, don't be grieved. Bob was very cheerful with them and spoke pleasantly to all the family. He looked at the work upon the table and praised the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They would be done long before Sunday, he said. Sunday? You went today, then, Robert, said his wife. Yes, my dear, returned Bob. I wish you could have gone. It would have done you good to see how green a place it is. So he's talking about the place where Tiny Tim will be buried. But you'll see it often. I promised him that I would walk there on Sunday. My little, little child. Cried Bob. My little child. He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. If he could have helped it, he and his child would have been farther apart perhaps than they were. He left the room and went upstairs into the room above, which was lighted cheerfully and hung with Christmas. There was a chair set close beside the child, and there were signs of someone having been there lately. So Tiny Tim's body is lying in this room waiting for burial. Poor Bob sat down in it, and when he had thought a little and composed himself, he kissed the little face. He was reconciled to what had happened and went down again, quite happy. They drew about the fire and talked, the girls and mother working still. Bob told them of the extraordinary kindness of Mr. Scrooge's nephew, whom he had scarcely seen but once, and who, meeting him in the street that day and seeing that he looked a little, just a little down, you know, said Bob, inquired what had happened to distress him. On which, said Bob, for he is the pleasantest spoken gentleman you ever heard. I told him. I am heartily sorry for it, Mr. Cratchit, he said, and heartily sorry for your good wife. By the by, how he ever knew that, I don't know. Knew what, my dear? Why, that you were a good wife, replied Bob. Everybody knows that, said Peter. Very well observed, my boy, cried Bob. I hope they do. Heartily sorry, he said, for your good wife. If I could be of service to you in any way, he said, giving me his card. That's where I live. Pray come to me now. It wasn't, cried Bob, for the sake of anything he might be able to do for us so much as for his kind way, that this was quite delightful. It really seemed as if he had known our Tiny Tim and felt with us. I'm sure he's a good soul, said Mrs. Cratchit. You would be surer of it, my dear, returned Bob, if you saw and spoke to him. I shouldn't be at all surprised, mark what I say. If he got Peter a better situation, meaning if he found Peter a better job than the one he has now. Only hear that, Peter, said Mrs. Cratchit, and then cried one of the girls. Peter will be keeping company with someone and setting up for himself, meaning he'll find someone to marry and he'll start up his own business, and he'll leave them. Get along with you, retorted Peter, grinning. It's just as likely as not, said Bob. One of these days, though there's plenty of time for that, my dear. But however and whenever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim, shall we? Or this first parting that there was among us. Never, Father. Cried they all. And I know, said Bob, I know, my dears, that when we recollect how patient and how mild he was, although he was a little, little child, we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it. No, never, Father. They all cried again. I am very happy, said little Bob. I am very happy. Mrs. Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the two young Cratchits kissed him, and Peter and himself shook hands. Spirit of Tiny Tim, thy childish essence was from God Spectre, said Scrooge, something informs me that our parting moment is at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell me what man that was whom we saw lying dead. The Ghost of Christmas yet to Come conveyed him as before, though at a different time, he thought. Indeed there seemed no order in these latter visions, save that they were in the future into the resorts of business men, but showed him not himself. Indeed, the spirit did not stay for anything, but went straight on, as to the end just now desired, until besought by Scrooge to tarry for a moment. This court, said Scrooge, through which we hurry now, is where my place of occupation is, and has been for a length of Time I see the house. Let me behold what I shall be in days to come. So they're passing Scrooge's office and he wants to look in and see what he's doing. The spirit stopped. The hand was pointed elsewhere. The house is yonder. Scrooge exclaimed. Why do you point away? The inexorable finger underwent no change. Scrooge hastened to the window of his office and looked in. It was an office still, but not his. The furniture was not the same, and the figure in the chair was not himself. The phantom pointed as before. He joined it once again, and, wondering why and whither he had gone, accompanied it until they reached an iron gate. He paused to look round before entering a churchyard. Here then, the wretched man whose name he had now to learn lay underneath the ground. It was a worthy place, walled in by houses overrun by grass and weeds, the growth of vegetation's death, not life choked up with too much burying, fat with repleted appetite. A worthy place. The spirit stood among the graves and pointed down to one. He advanced towards it, trembling. The phantom was exactly as it had been, but he dreaded that he saw new meaning in its solemn shape. Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point, said Scrooge, answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that will be, or are they shadows of things that may be only still? The ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood. Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends to which, if persevered in, they must lead, said Scrooge. But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me. So he's saying. Surely if he does different things, starting now, then the future will be different than what he was shown. The spirit was immovable as ever. Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went, and following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, Ebenezer Scrooge. Am I that man who lay upon the bed? He cried upon his knees. The finger pointed from the grave to him and back again. No, Spirit. Oh, no. No. The finger still was there. Spirit. He cried, tight, clutching at its robe. Hear me. I'm not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this if I am past all hope? For the first time, the hand appeared to shake. Good spirit, he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell before it. Your nature intercedes for me and pities me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me by an altered life. The kind hand trembled. I will honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the past, the present and the future. The spirits of all three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone. In his agony he caught the spectral hand. It sought to free itself, but he was strong in his entreaty and detained it. The spirit, stronger yet repulsed him. Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw an alteration in the phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost. Thank you so much for listening. Don't forget to check out my novel Christmas Carol. That's Carol with a K. Using the link in the Show Notes to hear me read an excerpt from the book tied to today's episode, click on the link in the Show Notes I would be so grateful if you would consider buying a copy or a few copies for yourself or as a gift. If you buy a copy of the book and email me a screenshot of your receipt, you'll be entered into a drawing to receive your choice of either your money back or an additional signed copy. The email to send the receipt to is in the Show Notes. If you buy multiple copies, you can enter the drawing multiple times. The winner will be notified by email. Also, everyone who buys a copy of the book is entitled to a free signed bookplate which you can stick into the book to make it a signed copy. If you'd like one, just email the screenshot of your receipt to the email address listed in the Show Notes and let me know whom you'd like the book plate made out to and what address to mail it to. Thank you so much for supporting me and the work I do by buying my book this Christmas time. And of course, don't forget to get in touch with comments or questions about this episode. Please go to my website, faithkmoore.com, click on Contact and send me your questions and thoughts. Or you can click on the link in the Show Notes to contact me. I'll feature one or two of your entries at the start of the next episode. Alright everyone, storytime is over. To be continued. It.