rful
dreams on Christmas eve, and so he had; and in one of them he dreamt
that a Christmas spirit showed him his clerk's home; he saw them all
gathered round the fire, and heard them drink his health, and Tiny Tim's
song, and he took special note of Tiny Tim himself.

How Mr. Scrooge spent Christmas day we do not know. He may have remained
in bed, having a cold, but on Christmas night he had more dreams, and
in one of his dreams the spirit took him again to his clerk's poor home.
The mother was doing some needlework, seated by the table, a tear
dropped on it now and then, and she said, poor thing, that the work,
which was black, hurt her eyes. The children sat, sad and silent, about
the room, except Tiny Tim, who was not there. Upstairs the father, with
his face hidden in his hands, sat beside a little bed, on which lay a
tiny figure, white and still. "My little child, my pretty little child,"
he sobbed, as the tears fell through his fingers on to the floor. "Tiny
Tim died because his father was too poor to give him what was necessary
to make him well; _you_ kept him poor;" said the dream-spirit to Mr.
Scrooge. The father kissed the cold, little face on the bed, and went
downstairs, where the sprays of holly still remained about the humble
room; and taking his hat, went out, with a wistful glance at the little
crutch in the corner as he shut the door. Mr. Scrooge saw all this, and
many more things as strange and sad, the spirit took care of that; but,
wonderful to relate, he woke the next morning feeling a different
man--feeling as he had never felt in his life before. For after all, you
know that what he had seen was no more than a dream; he knew that Tiny
Tim was not dead, and Scrooge was resolved that Tiny Tim should not die
if he could help it.

"Why, I am as light as a feather, and as happy as an angel, and as merry
as a schoolboy," Scrooge said to himself as he skipped into the next
room to breakfast and threw on all the coals at once, and put two lumps
of sugar in his tea. "I hope everybody had a merry Christmas, and here's
a happy New Year to all the world."

On that morning, the day after Christmas poor Bob Cratchit crept into
the office a few minutes late, expecting to be roundly abused and
scolded for it, but no such thing; his master was there with his back to
a good fire, and actually smiling, and he shook hands with his clerk,
telling him heartily he was going to raise his salary and asking quite
affect