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"
"And who was it that said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me?'"
"Jesus, Mr. Bingle," said the five Sykeses, eyeing the pile on the
table.
"And where do you expect to go when you die?" demanded Mr. Bingle,
with great severity.
"Heaven!" shouted the perfectly healthy Sykeses.
"How is your mother, Mary?" asked Mrs. Bingle, always a rational
woman.
Mary bobbed. "She's working, ma'am," said she, and that was all she
knew about her mother's state of health.
"Are you cold?" inquired Mr. Bingle, herding them a little closer to
the grate.
"Yes," said two of the Sykeses.
"Sir," admonished Melissa.
"Sir!" said all of the Sykeses.
"Now, draw up the chairs," said Mr. Bingle, clearing his throat.
"Mary, you'd better take Kate and Georgie on your lap, and suppose you
hold Maud, Melissa. It will be more cosy." This was his way of
overcoming the shortage in chairs.
Now, it was Mr. Bingle's custom to read "The Christmas Carol" on
Christmas Eve. It was his creed, almost his religion, this heart-
breaking tale by Dickens.


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