and the child would have been farther apart, perhaps, than they
were.

"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,
with the covered face, whom we saw lying dead?"

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him to a dismal, wretched,
ruinous churchyard.

The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to One.

"Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point, answer me one
question. Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they
shadows of the 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. But if the courses be departed from, the ends will
change. Say it is thus with what you show me!"

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? No, Spirit! O no, no! Spirit!
hear me! I am 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?
Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me by an
altered life."

For the first time the kind hand faltered.

"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. O, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!"

Holding up his hands in one 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.

Yes, and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his
own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make
amends in!

He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the
lustiest peals he had ever heard.

Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no
mist, no night; clear, bright, stirring, golden day!

"What's to-day?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday
clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.

"Eh?"

"What's to-day, my fine fellow?"

"To-day! Why, CHRISTMAS DAY."

"It's Christmas day! I