Mr. Pickwick's Christmas: Being an Account of the Pickwickians' Christmas at the Manor Farm, of the Adventures There; the Tale of the Goblin Who Stole a Sexton, and of the Famous Sports on the IceDickens, Charles
General
Mr. Pickwick's Christmas: Being an Account of the Pickwickians' Christmas at the Manor Farm, of the Adventures There; the Tale of the Goblin Who Stole a Sexton, and of the Famous Sports on the Ice
Dickens, Charles
Christmas stories
The old lady was seated in customary state in the front parlour, but she
was rather cross, and by consequence, most particularly deaf. She never
went out herself, and like a great many other old ladies of the same
stamp, she was apt to consider it an act of domestic treason, if any
body else took the liberty of doing what she couldn’t. So, bless her old
soul, she sat as upright as she could, in her great chair, and looked as
fierce as might be—and that was benevolent after all.
“Mother,” said Wardle, “Mr. Pickwick. You recollect him.”
[Illustration]
“Never mind,” replied the old lady with great dignity. “Don’t trouble
Mr. Pickwick about an old creetur like me. Nobody cares about me now,
and it’s very nat’ral they shouldn’t.” Here the old lady tossed her
head, and smoothed down her lavender-coloured silk dress, with trembling
hands.
“Come, come, Ma’am,” said Mr. Pickwick, “I can’t let you cut an old
friend in this way. I have come down expressly to have a long talk, and
another rubber with you; and we’ll show these boys and girls how to
dance a minuet, before they’re eight-and-forty hours older.”
The old lady was rapidly giving way, but she did not like to do it all
at once; so she only said, “Ah! I can’t hear him.”
“Nonsense, mother,” said Wardle. “Come, come, don’t be cross, there’s a
good soul. Recollect Bella; come, you must keep her spirits up, poor
girl.”
The good old lady heard this, for her lip quivered as her son said it.
But age has its little infirmities of temper, and she was not quite
brought round yet. So, she smoothed down the lavender-coloured dress
again, and turning to Mr. Pickwick said, “Ah, Mr. Pickwick, young people
was very different, when I was a girl.”
“No doubt of that, Ma’am,” said Mr. Pickwick, “and that’s the reason why
I would make much of the few that have any traces of the old stock,”—and
saying this, Mr. Pickwick gently pulled Bella towards him, and bestowing
a kiss upon her forehead, bade her sit down on the little stool at her
grandmother’s feet. Whether the expression of her countenance, as it was
raised towards the old lady’s face, called up a thought of old times, or
whether the old lady was touched by Mr. Pickwick’s affectionate good
nature, or whatever was the cause, she was fairly melted; so, she threw
herself on her grand-daughter’s neck, and all the little ill-humour
evaporated in a gush of silent tears.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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