Even this, though, when Scrooge looked at it with increasing steadiness, was not its strangest quality. For as its belt sparkled and glittered now in one part and now in another, and what was light one instant, at another time was dark, so the figure itself fluctuated in its distinctness: being now a thing with one arm, now with one leg, now with twenty legs, now a pair of legs without a head, now a head without a body: of which dissolving parts, no outline would be visible in the dense gloom wherein they melted away. And in the very wonder of this, it would be itself again; distinct and clear as ever.

`Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?' asked Scrooge.

`I am.'

The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.

`Who, and what are you?' Scrooge demanded.

`I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.'

`Long Past?' inquired Scrooge: observant of its dwarfish stature.

`No. Your past.'

Perhaps, Scrooge could not have told anybody why, if anybody could have asked him; but he had a special desire to see the Spirit in his cap; and begged him to be covered.

`What!' exclaimed the Ghost, `would you so soon put out, with worldly hands, the light I give? Is it not enough that you are one of those whose passions made this cap, and force me through whole trains of years to wear it low upon my brow?'

Scrooge reverently disclaimed all intention to offend or any knowledge of having wilfully bonneted the Spirit at any period of his life. He then made bold to inquire what business brought him there.

`Your welfare,' said the Ghost.

Scrooge expressed himself much obliged, but could not help thinking that a night of unbroken rest would have been more conducive to that end. The Spirit must have heard him thinking, for it said immediately:

`Your reclamation, then. Take heed.'

It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by the arm.

`Rise, and walk with me.'

It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and the hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm, and the thermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly in his slippers, dressing-gown, and nightcap; and that he had a cold upon him at that time. The grasp, though gentle as a woman's hand, was not to be resisted. He rose: but finding that the Spirit made towards the window, clasped his robe in supplication.

`I am mortal,' Scrooge remonstrated, `and liable to fall.'

`Bear but a touch of my hand there,' said the Spirit, laying it upon his heart, `and you shall be upheld in more than this.'

As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground.

`Good Heaven!' said Scrooge, clasping his hands together, as he looked about him. `I was bred in this place. I was a boy here.'

The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though it had been light and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man's sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long, forgotten.

`Your lip is trembling,' said the Ghost. `and what is that upon your cheek?'

Scrooge muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, that it was a pimple; and begged the Ghost to lead him where he would.

`You recollect the way?' inquired the Spirit.

`Remember it!' cried Scrooge with fervour; `I could walk it blindfold.'

`Strange to have forgotten it for so many years,' observed the Ghost. `Let us go on.'

They walked along the road, Scrooge recognising every gate, and post, and tree; until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with its bridge, its church, and winding river. Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards them with boys upon their backs, who called to other boys in country gigs and carts, driven by farmers.

Charles Dickens
Classic Literature Library
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