have come to dinner. Will you let me in,
Fred?"

Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He was at home in
five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the same.
So did Topper when _he_ came. So did the plump sister when _she_ came.
So did every one when _they_ came. Wonderful party, wonderful games,
wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!

But he was early at the office next morning. O, he was early there! If
he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That
was the thing he had set his heart upon.

And he did it. The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob.
Bob was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat
with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the Tank.

Bob's hat was off before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was
on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying
to overtake nine o'clock.

"Hallo!" growled Scrooge in his accustomed voice, as near as he could
feign it. "What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?"

"I am very sorry, sir. I _am_ behind my time."

"You are? Yes. I think you are. Step this way, if you please."

"It's only once a year, sir. It shall not be repeated. I was making
rather merry yesterday, sir."

"Now, I'll tell you what, my friend. I am not going to stand this sort
of thing any longer. And therefore," Scrooge continued, leaping from his
stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back
into the Tank again,--"and therefore I am about to raise your salary!"

Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler.

"A merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could
not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. "A merrier Christmas,
Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I'll raise
your salary, and endeavor to assist your struggling family, and we will
discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of
smoking bishop, Bob! Make up the fires, and buy a second coal-scuttle
before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!"

Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more;
and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father. He became as
good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city
knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough in the good old
world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him; but his own
heart