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A piteous, pleading look came into his eyes, and his face, once arrogant, was now haggard with despair. "Bingle, I I want you to help me. For God's sake, do what you can for me. Put into practice your beautiful Christmas Carol teachings. I I want her. She must be made to understand that I love her, she must be made to feel that she is everything in the world to me. She looks like her mother.
Bogart finally oozed out of the front door. Carol ran back into the living-room and jerked open the windows. "That woman has left damp finger-prints in the air," she said. Carol was extravagant, but at least she did not try to clear herself of blame by going about whimpering, "I know I'm terribly extravagant but I don't seem to be able to help it."
Finally, Prudence plunged in desperately, "Dear Father" as she usually began her sweet, intimate little talks with God, and then she paused. Before her eyes flashed a picture of the "beautiful morning," for which Carol had just been thankful! She tried again. "Dear Father," and then she whirled around on the floor, and laughed. Mr.
Carol took the opportunity of telling his coachman to drive round by the park to the door of the little conservatory and wait there. Thus, his wife and he would avoid meeting any one, and would escape the leave-taking of friends and the curiosity of lockers-on. Micheline went up to Jeanne, and said: "As you are going away quietly, dear, I shall not see you again this evening. Adieu!"
Carol fluttered at the back of the room, childishly excited when she was sent to fetch towels and a basin of water. Kennicott lifted the farmer into a chair and chuckled, "There we are, Halvor! We'll have you out fixing fences and drinking aquavit in a month." The farmwife sat on the couch, expressionless, bulky in a man's dogskin coat and unplumbed layers of jackets.
He appeared to be the leader of a movement to squash "The Christmas Carol." "Neither do I," said Marie Louise and Wilberforce. "I want to hear about Tiny Tim," piped up Rosemary, almost in tears. "Well, you haven't heard it all your life like we have," said Frederick, scowling at the little one. "You've only heard it twice." "Dear me," sighed Mr. Bingle, in evident distress.
Before that time, she knew, a hundred generations of Carols will aspire and go down in tragedy devoid of palls and solemn chanting, the humdrum inevitable tragedy of struggle against inertia. "Let's all go to the movies tomorrow night. Awfully exciting film," said Ethel Clark. "Well, I was going to read a new book but All right, let's go," said Carol.
Dinner was just over when voices were heard in the hall singing a Christmas carol, and all the guests went out to listen to the words which told of the glorious event which had, upwards of eighteen hundred years before, occurred in the distant East, and yet was of as much importance to all the human race, and will be to the end of time, as then.
As they rang off, my father would cry out, "One, two," and so on, and then cry, "Elias, all over town people are opening windows to listen." I seemed to hear him as I sat in the gloom. Then I heard, "All ready; one, two," and they rang the Christmas carol. Overhead I heard the great bells ringing out: And all the bells on earth shall ring On Christmas day, on Christmas day.
"You go, Lark," said Carol. "My head aches." "Do you want me to rub it?" asked Prudence, as Lark skipped up-stairs for her twin. "No, it's just the closeness in here. It doesn't ache very bad. If we don't have more fresh air, we'll all get something and die, Prudence. I tell you that. This room is perfectly stuffy. I do not want to talk any more."
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