Christmas Penny Readings: Original Sketches for the Season
made the candlestick jump, and sent the children trembling up to their mother.

“It’s because nobody ever said to me, ‘Sam Roberts, what’ll you take to eat?’” And then I banged my fist on the table again, and began walking up and down the room.

Nobody spoke to me, but the wife got the children off quietly to bed, and at last, when I was still striding up and down, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and she whispered quite low like—

“Don’t mind it, dear.”

“But I do,” I said, quite fierce and loud, and the poor thing stole away from me again, and though I didn’t look at her, I knew she wasn’t able to keep the tears back, and that I’d been the cause again.

I took no notice then though, for something was working in me, and at last I told her to go to bed, and she did, while I sat before the bit of fire in the room and thought it over.

Now don’t laugh at me when I tell you that I believe in bells, but I can’t help it if you do, for they always seem to speak to me like music does, and if there’s ever anything will act on me it’s the sound of a peal of bells. It was bitter cold that night, and yet I didn’t feel it; the wind howled along the street, and I could now and then hear the great flakes of snow come softly patting at the window, and then the sashes would shake, and the wind rumble in the chimney, while every now and then came the sound of the bells, not bright and joyful, but sad and sobbing and mournful. I knew it was a merry, rejoicing time with every one else. I could not attend to that, for I was gradually getting to see one thing that I kept on fighting against, and that was, what a fool I had been.

Fight against it I did, but it was no use, for as the streets got more quiet, and the wind sunk, the bells rang out clearer and clearer, and seemed to keep telling me of it. Now I knew of it by the threepence in my pocket; now it was by the shabby floor; then the beggarly furniture and the miserable fire; and though I didn’t cross the room I had it in my mind’s eye, and there it all was written plain enough in my wife’s face.

And yet I wouldn’t own to it, though the bells seemed to be speaking to me, and rang out plainer and plainer all my waste and carelessness, till all at once they stopped for a minute; when one big bell began to toll slowly, “boom, boom, boom”; and that did it, for the next moment I gave a wild sort of cry, and was down on my knees with my hands over 
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