Mr. Darcy's Christmas Carol Read Online Free PDF Page B

pub, talking philosophy and literature…”
    â€œAnd other fancies of young men?” asked the Spirit.
    Darcy blushed and nodded, and looked over this memory.
    Old Peterson laid down his polishing cloth and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands, adjusted his capacious apron, laughed to himself, and called out in a comfortable and jovial voice as the door to the taproom opened:
    â€œYo ho, there! Mr. Darcy! Lord Wilkins!”
    Darcy’s former self, now grown to a young man, came in briskly, accompanied by his fellow classmate.
    â€œRichard Wilkins, to be sure!” said Darcy to the Ghost. “Yes. There he is. He was so lively, it is hard to believe that he is already gone, killed in the Battle of Talavera.”
    â€œYo ho, boys! No more work for me tonight. Christmas Eve, Lord Wilkins. Christmas, Mr. Darcy!” cried old Peterson with a sharp clap of his hands.
    Peterson held a party for all those fine young scholars at Cambridge, who, for whatever reason, could not make it home for Christmas. Darcy had not been particularly eager to join his father and sister in spending the holiday with his aunt, Lady Catherine. So he accepted Lord Wilkins invitation to stay in Cambridge during the holiday.
    More students entered behind Darcy and his friend. Peterson skipped around the bar with wonderful agility. “Go on up, my lads, and enjoy the party!”
    Up they ventured into the public room where everyone was gathering. The floor was swept, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the pub was as snug, warm, dry, and as bright as could be desired from a ballroom on a cold winter’s night.
    In came the musicians with their music books and made an orchestra of one corner, tuning their instruments like fifty stomachaches. In came Mrs. Peterson, one vast smile, followed by the three Miss Petersons, beaming and lovable, and the six young followers whose hearts they held. In came the housemaid with her baker, the cook with her milkman, and the boy from over the way, who tried to hide himself from the girl next door who had caught his shy heart. More friends of the Petersons and more students arrived. In they all came, one after another—some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling—but they all came to the party.
    There were dances, and there were forfeits and still more dances. There were tables laden with cake, negus, a great piece of cold roast, a great piece of cold ham, and mince pies. Plenty of beer flowed throughout the night. But the greatest event of the evening came after the roast, when the fiddler struck up “Sir Roger de Coverley.” Then, old Peterson stood up to dance with Mrs. Peterson. Four and twenty pair of partners joined in—people who were not to be trifled with, people who would dance and had no notion of walking, including Darcy.
    But if they had been twice as many, old Peterson would have been a match for them and so would Mrs. Peterson.
    The Spirit noticed this and said to Darcy, “She was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. If that is not high praise, tell me what is higher and I will use it.”
    â€œIndeed,” Darcy observed from the sidelines, “all of the couples were well matched. Oh, the women laughed and flirted and danced with the students, but it was clear that they were just having an evening’s fun. They were truly happy with their own partners.”
    When the clock struck eleven, the domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson took their stations, one on either side of the door, and shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. Everybody had retired but Darcy and his friend, so they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to find their way back to their rooms.
    During the whole of this time, Darcy had acted