Enter Bob Cratchit. Belinda and Little Cratchit meet him; Peter places a chair for him, and Mrs. C. averts her head to conceal her emotion. Bob kisses Belinda, and takes Little C. on his knees, who lays his little cheek against his face.
Bob. Hard at work, my dears; hard at work. Why, how industrious you are, and what progress you are making. You will be done long before Sunday.
Mrs. C. Sunday! You went to-day, then, Robert?
Bob. Yes, my dear; I wish you could have gone, it would have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you'll see it often. I promised him that I would walk there on a Sunday. My little, little child! my little child! (Rises and retires up stage to compose himself; returns and resumes his place at the table.) Oh, I must tell you of the extraordinary kindness of Mr Scrooge's nephew, whom I have scarcely seen but once, and who, meeting me in the street, and seeing that I looked a little—just a little—down, you know, inquired what had happened to distress me. On which, for he is the pleasantest-spoken gentleman you ever heard, I told him. I am heartily sorry for it, Mr. Cratchit, he said, and heartily sorry for your good wife. By-the-bye, how he ever knew that, I don't know.
Mrs. C. Knew what, my dear?
Bob. Why, that you were a good wife.
Peter. Everybody knows that!
Bob. Very well observed, my boy. I hope they do. Heartily sorry, he said, for your good wife. If I can be of service to you in any way, he said, giving me his card, that's where I live; pray come to me. Now, it wasn't for the sake of anything he might be able to do for us, so much as for his kind way, that this was quite delightful. It really seemed as if he had known our Tiny Tim, and felt with us.
Mrs. C. I'm sure he's a good soul.
Bob. You would be sure of it, my dear, if you saw and spoke to him. I shouldn't be at all surprised—mark my words—if he got Peter a better situation.