The Cricket on the Hearth: A Fairy Tale of HomeDickens, Charles
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The Cricket on the Hearth: A Fairy Tale of Home
Dickens, Charles
Christmas stories, English; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Holidays -- Fiction
‘No; keep there, please, John! When I laugh at you, as I sometimes do,
John, and call you clumsy and a dear old goose, and names of that sort,
it’s because I love you, John, so well, and take such pleasure in your
ways, and wouldn’t see you altered in the least respect to have you made
a King to-morrow.’
‘Hooroar!’ said Caleb with unusual vigour. ‘My opinion!’
‘And when I speak of people being middle-aged, and steady, John, and
pretend that we are a humdrum couple, going on in a jog-trot sort of way,
it’s only because I’m such a silly little thing, John, that I like,
sometimes, to act a kind of Play with Baby, and all that: and make
believe.’
She saw that he was coming; and stopped him again. But she was very
nearly too late.
‘No, don’t love me for another minute or two, if you please, John! What
I want most to tell you, I have kept to the last. My dear, good,
generous John, when we were talking the other night about the Cricket, I
had it on my lips to say, that at first I did not love you quite so
dearly as I do now; that when I first came home here, I was half afraid I
mightn’t learn to love you every bit as well as I hoped and prayed I
might—being so very young, John! But, dear John, every day and hour I
loved you more and more. And if I could have loved you better than I do,
the noble words I heard you say this morning, would have made me. But I
can’t. All the affection that I had (it was a great deal, John) I gave
you, as you well deserve, long, long ago, and I have no more left to
give. Now, my dear husband, take me to your heart again! That’s my
home, John; and never, never think of sending me to any other!’
You never will derive so much delight from seeing a glorious little woman
in the arms of a third party, as you would have felt if you had seen Dot
run into the Carrier’s embrace. It was the most complete, unmitigated,
soul-fraught little piece of earnestness that ever you beheld in all your
days.
You may be sure the Carrier was in a state of perfect rapture; and you may
be sure Dot was likewise; and you may be sure they all were, inclusive of
Miss Slowboy, who wept copiously for joy, and wishing to include her
young charge in the general interchange of congratulations, handed round
the Baby to everybody in succession, as if it were something to drink.
But, now, the sound of wheels was heard again outside the door; and
somebody exclaimed that Gruff and Tackleton was coming back. Speedily
that worthy gentleman appeared, looking warm and flustered.
‘Why, what the Devil’s this, John Peerybingle!’ said Tackleton. ‘There’s
some mistake. I appointed Mrs. Tackleton to meet me at the church, and
I’ll swear I passed her on the road, on her way here. Oh! here she is!
I beg your pardon, sir; I haven’t the pleasure of knowing you; but if you
can do me the favour to spare this young lady, she has rather a
particular engagement this morning.’
‘But I can’t spare her,’ returned Edward. ‘I couldn’t think of it.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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