Christmas stories, English; Holidays -- Fiction; Short stories
“So you have never sent me to Coventry after all!” said the lady,
laughing, as our fellows swarmed up the wall to shake hands with her.
“Are you never going to do it?”
“Never! never! never!” on all sides.
I didn’t understand what she meant then, but of course I do now. I was
very much pleased with her face though, and with her good way, and I
couldn’t help looking at her—and at him too—with all our fellows
clustering so joyfully about them.
They soon took notice of me as a new boy, so I thought I might as well
swarm up the wall myself, and shake hands with them as the rest did. I
was quite as glad to see them as the rest were, and was quite as familiar
with them in a moment.
“Only a fortnight now,” said Old Cheeseman, “to the holidays. Who stops?
Anybody?”
A good many fingers pointed at me, and a good many voices cried “He
does!” For it was the year when you were all away; and rather low I was
about it, I can tell you.
“Oh!” said Old Cheeseman. “But it’s solitary here in the holiday time.
He had better come to us.”
So I went to their delightful house, and was as happy as I could possibly
be. They understand how to conduct themselves towards boys, _they_ do.
When they take a boy to the play, for instance, they _do_ take him. They
don’t go in after it’s begun, or come out before it’s over. They know
how to bring a boy up, too. Look at their own! Though he is very little
as yet, what a capital boy he is! Why, my next favourite to Mrs.
Cheeseman and Old Cheeseman, is young Cheeseman.
So, now I have told you all I know about Old Cheeseman. And it’s not
much after all, I am afraid. Is it?
NOBODY’S STORY
HE lived on the bank of a mighty river, broad and deep, which was always
silently rolling on to a vast undiscovered ocean. It had rolled on, ever
since the world began. It had changed its course sometimes, and turned
into new channels, leaving its old ways dry and barren; but it had ever
been upon the flow, and ever was to flow until Time should be no more.
Against its strong, unfathomable stream, nothing made head. No living
creature, no flower, no leaf, no particle of animate or inanimate
existence, ever strayed back from the undiscovered ocean. The tide of
the river set resistlessly towards it; and the tide never stopped, any
more than the earth stops in its circling round the sun.
He lived in a busy place, and he worked very hard to live. He had no
hope of ever being rich enough to live a month without hard work, but he
was quite content, GOD knows, to labour with a cheerful will. He was one
of an immense family, all of whose sons and daughters gained their daily
bread by daily work, prolonged from their rising up betimes until their
lying down at night. Beyond this destiny he had no prospect, and he
sought none.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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