They were neat and clean, and although six months had
lengthened their bodies and shortened their garments, their patches
and shreds were not so vindictive that they slapped Mr. Bingle's pride
in face, if the metaphor is permissible.
"I hope," said he, with his thin shoulders close to the fire, "that we
will have time for 'The Christmas Carol' before they--the--" his voice
shook a little--"before the gentlemen come for you, kidlets. Perhaps
if we were to hurry supper along a little bit, Melissa, we could
manage it."
"I don't want to hear that thing again," said Frederick boldly. He
appeared to be the leader of a movement to squash "The Christmas
Carol."
"Neither do I," said Marie Louise and Wilberforce.
"I want to hear about Tiny Tim," piped up Rosemary, almost in tears.
"Well, you haven't heard it all your life like we have," said
Frederick, scowling at the little one. "You've only heard it twice."
"Dear me," sighed Mr. Bingle, in evident distress. "Don't you want to
hear 'The Carol' before you say good-bye to daddy--forever?"
"No," said Frederick; "and I'll bet they don't read it where we're
going, either.
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