The mother and her daughters were making a small white cotton shirt together,While the usually noisy young Cratchits sat silently in a corner,And Peter was reading a book.Mrs. Cratchit put her work down on the table, and covered her face with her hand.
The colour hurts my eyes, she said. The co;our? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!
They are a little better now, she went on. It is difficult to work by candlelight .And I do not want to show red eyes to your father when he comes home.
He is a bit late, said Peter, but I think he is walked more slowly these last few days,mother.
They were very quiet again. At last she said bravely,
I have known him walk with-with Tiny Tim in his arms, very fast indeed.
So have I, cried Peter ,Often!
But he was very light to carry, and your father loved him so much! And there are your father at the door now!She got up quickly to kiss Bob as he came in.He looked tired and thin ,and needed his long scarf ,poor man!Martha took his boots and scarf off, and Belinda brought him his tea, and the little Cratchits sat close to him.He was very cheerful with all of them, and was pleased with the little shirt that his wife and daughters were making.
It will be ready long before Sunday, won't? he said.
Sunday! You went there today, then, Bob? asked his wife.
Yes, my dear. You would love to see it. It is a beautiful green place.