Mrs. C. The founder of the feast, indeed! I wish I had him here, I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it.
Bob. My dear, the children! Christmas Day.
Mrs. C. It should be Christmas Day, I am sure, on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert. Nobody knows it better than you, poor fellow.
Bob. My dear. Christmas Day.
Mrs. C. I'll drink his health for your sake and the day's, not for his. Long life to him. A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! He'll be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt.
All. A Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.
Scro. Spirit, take me away. I see the very mention of my name casts a gloom on what, were it not for me, would be a very happy party.
Spir. Wait; they will soon put the memory of you aside, and will be ten times merrier than before, and Tiny Tim will sing.
Scro. No, no; take me hence.
(As they retire toward the door, the spirit shakes his torch toward the party, which restores good humor.)