‘Only hear that, Peter,’ said Mrs. Cratchit.
‘And then,’ cried one of the girls, ‘Peter will be keeping company with some one, and setting up for himself.’
‘Get along with you!’ retorted Peter, grinning.
‘It’s just as likely as not,’ said Bob, ‘one of these days; though there’s plenty of time for that, my dear. But, however and whenever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim—shall we—or this first parting that there was among us?’
‘Never, father!’ cried they all.
‘And I know,’ said Bob, ‘I know, my dears, that when we recollect how patient and how mild he was; although he was a little, little child; we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it.’
‘No, never, father!’ they all cried again.
‘I am very happy,’ said little Bob, ‘I am very happy!’
Mrs. Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the two young Cratchits kissed him, and Peter and himself shook hands. Spirit of Tiny Tim, thy childish essence was from God!
‘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 whom we saw lying dead?’
