De La Salle Fifth Reader Part 42

Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't eaten it all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs.

Cratchit left the room alone--too nervous to bear witnesses--to take the pudding up and bring it in.

Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the backyard and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose--a supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid. All sorts of horrors were supposed.

Halloa! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a was.h.i.+ng day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating house and a pastry cook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered--flushed, but smiling proudly--with the pudding like a speckled cannon ball, so hard and firm, smoking hot, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that, now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had her doubts about the quant.i.ty of flour.

Everybody had something to say about it, but n.o.body said or thought it was at all a small pudding for so large a family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of gla.s.s,--two tumblers and a custard cup without a handle.

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed: "A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. G.o.d bless us!"

Which all the family re[:e]choed.

"G.o.d bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

He sat very close to his father's side, upon his little stool. Bob held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.

_Charles d.i.c.kens._

[Ill.u.s.tration: Portrait of d.i.c.kens.]

DECLENSION, a falling downward.

COPPER, a boiler made of copper.

RALLIED, indulged in pleasant humor.

UBIQUITOUS (u b[)i]k' w[)i] t[)u]s), appearing to be everywhere at the same time.

EKED OUT, added to; increased.

BEDIGHT, bedecked; adorned.

RE[:E]CHOED (reechoed): What is the mark placed over the second _e_ called, and what does it denote?

NOTE.--"A Christmas Carol," from which the selection is taken, is considered the best short story that d.i.c.kens wrote, and one of the best Christmas stories ever written. The Cratchits were very poor as to the goods of this world, but very rich in love, kindness, and contentment.

_67_

WHICH SHALL IT BE?

Which shall it be? Which shall it be?

I looked at John, John looked at me; And when I found that I must speak, My voice seemed strangely low and weak: "Tell me again what Robert said,"

And then I, listening, bent my head-- This is his letter: "I will give A house and land while you shall live, If in return from out your seven One child to me for aye is given."

I looked at John's old garments worn; I thought of all that he had borne Of poverty, and work, and care, Which I, though willing, could not share; I thought of seven young mouths to feed, Of seven little children's need, And then of this.

"Come, John," said I, "We'll choose among them as they lie Asleep." So, walking hand in hand, Dear John and I surveyed our band: First to the cradle lightly stepped, Where Lilian, the baby, slept.

Softly the father stooped to lay His rough hand down in loving way, When dream or whisper made her stir, And huskily he said: "Not her!"

We stooped beside the trundle-bed, And one long ray of lamplight shed Athwart the boyish faces there, In sleep so pitiful and fair; I saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek A tear undried. Ere John could speak, "He's but a baby too," said I, And kissed him as we hurried by.

Pale, patient Robbie's angel face Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace-- "No, for a thousand crowns, not him!"

He whispered, while our eyes were dim.

Poor d.i.c.k! bad d.i.c.k, our wayward son-- Turbulent, restless, idle one-- Could he be spared? Nay, He who gave Bade us befriend him to the grave; Only a mother's heart could be Patient enough for such as he; "And so," said John, "I would not dare To take him from her bedside prayer."

Then stole we softly up above, And knelt by Mary, child of love; "Perhaps for her 'twould better be,"

I said to John. Quite silently He lifted up a curl that lay Across her cheek in wilful way, And shook his head: "Nay, love, not thee,"

The while my heart beat audibly.

Only one more, our eldest lad, Trusty and truthful, good and glad, So like his father. "No, John, no!

I cannot, will not, let him go."

And so we wrote in courteous way, We could not give one child away; And afterwards toil lighter seemed, Thinking of that of which we dreamed, Happy in truth that not one face Was missed from its accustomed place, Thankful to work for all the seven, Trusting the rest to One in Heaven!

_Anonymous_.

Write the story of the poem in the form of a composition. Tell of the great affection of parents for their children. Even in the poorest and most numerous families, what parent could think of parting with a child for any sum of money?

Tell about the letter John and his wife received from a rich man without children who wished to adopt one of their seven. Tell about the offer the rich man made. What a great temptation this was!

The parents considered the offer, looked into each other's faces and asked, "Which shall it be?" Not the baby. Why? Not the two youngest boys. Why? Not the poor helpless little cripple. Why? Not the sweet child, Mary. Why? Not d.i.c.k, the wayward son. Why? Not, for worlds, the oldest boy. Why?

Tell the answer the parents sent the rich man.