observed at the baker's) that, notwithstanding his gigantic size, he
could accommodate himself to any place with ease; and that he stood
beneath a low roof quite as gracefully, and like a supernatural
creature, as it was possible he could have done in any lofty hall.

And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing off this
power of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature,
and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge's
clerk's; for there he went, and took Scrooge with him, holding to his
robe; and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped to
bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch. Think
of that! Bob had but fifteen "bob" a week himself; he pocketed on
Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name; and yet the Ghost of
Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed house!

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in
a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a
goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda
Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master
Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting
the corners of his monstrous shirt-collar (Bob's private property,
conferred upon his son and heir in honour of the day) into his mouth,
rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his
linen in the fashionable parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and
girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had
smelt the goose, and known it for their own, and, basking in luxurious
thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about the
table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (not
proud, although his collar nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the
slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan lid to be let
out and peeled.

"What has ever got your precious father, then?" said Mrs. Cratchit. "And
your brother, Tiny Tim? And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by
half an hour!"

"Here's Martha, mother!" said a girl, appearing as she spoke.

"Here's Martha, mother!" cried the two young Cratchits. "Hurrah! There's
such a goose, Martha!"

"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!" said Mrs.
Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet
for her with officious zeal.

"We'd a dea