Bob. Mrs. Cratchit, I regard this pudding as the greatest success you have achieved since our marriage.
Mrs. C. Now that the weight's off my mind, I confess I had my doubts about it, and I don't think it at all a small pudding for so large a family.
Bob. It would be flat heresy to say so. A Cratchit would blush to hint at such a thing!
Scr. Their merry, cheerful dinner's ended, but not their sweet, enjoyment of the day. (Mrs. Cratchit, etc., clears the table. A jug and a glass or two are placed on it. Bob fills the glasses.)
Bob. A merry Christmas to us all, my dear—heaven bless us! (They drink and echo him—Tiny Tim is near his father, who presses his hand.)
Scr. Spirit tell me if Tiny Tim will live?
2nd Spirit. If the shadows I see remain unaltered by the future, the child will die.
Scr. No, no—say he will be spared.
2nd Spirit. If he be like to die—what then? He had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.
Scr. My own words!