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
Of course it became a serious duty now, to make such a day of it, as
should mark these events for a high Feast and Festival in the Peerybingle
Calendar for evermore. Accordingly, Dot went to work to produce such an
entertainment, as should reflect undying honour on the house and on every
one concerned; and in a very short space of time, she was up to her
dimpled elbows in flour, and whitening the Carrier’s coat, every time he
came near her, by stopping him to give him a kiss. That good fellow
washed the greens, and peeled the turnips, and broke the plates, and
upset iron pots full of cold water on the fire, and made himself useful
in all sorts of ways: while a couple of professional assistants, hastily
called in from somewhere in the neighbourhood, as on a point of life or
death, ran against each other in all the doorways and round all the
corners, and everybody tumbled over Tilly Slowboy and the Baby,
everywhere. Tilly never came out in such force before. Her ubiquity was
the theme of general admiration. She was a stumbling-block in the
passage at five-and-twenty minutes past two; a man-trap in the kitchen at
half-past two precisely; and a pitfall in the garret at five-and-twenty
minutes to three. The Baby’s head was, as it were, a test and touchstone
for every description of matter,—animal, vegetable, and mineral. Nothing
was in use that day that didn’t come, at some time or other, into close
acquaintance with it.
Then, there was a great Expedition set on foot to go and find out Mrs.
Fielding; and to be dismally penitent to that excellent gentlewoman; and
to bring her back, by force, if needful, to be happy and forgiving. And
when the Expedition first discovered her, she would listen to no terms at
all, but said, an unspeakable number of times, that ever she should have
lived to see the day! and couldn’t be got to say anything else, except,
‘Now carry me to the grave:’ which seemed absurd, on account of her not
being dead, or anything at all like it. After a time, she lapsed into a
state of dreadful calmness, and observed, that when that unfortunate
train of circumstances had occurred in the Indigo Trade, she had foreseen
that she would be exposed, during her whole life, to every species of
insult and contumely; and that she was glad to find it was the case; and
begged they wouldn’t trouble themselves about her,—for what was she? oh,
dear! a nobody!—but would forget that such a being lived, and would take
their course in life without her. From this bitterly sarcastic mood, she
passed into an angry one, in which she gave vent to the remarkable
expression that the worm would turn if trodden on; and, after that, she
yielded to a soft regret, and said, if they had only given her their
confidence, what might she not have had it in her power to suggest!
Taking advantage of this crisis in her feelings, the Expedition embraced
her; and she very soon had her gloves on, and was on her way to John
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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