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SPAMCAPITAL OMEGA: THE REMAKE OF THE REMAKE OF THE SPAM

The boy must have read them out, as
he and the Spirit crossed the threshold.
 
The mother laid her work upon the table,
and put her hand up to her face.
 
"The colour hurts my eyes," she said.
 
"They're better now again," said Cratchit's wife. "It
makes them weak by candle-light; and I wouldn't show weak
eyes to your father when he comes home, for the world. It
must be near his time."
 
"Past it rather," Peter answered, shutting up his book.
"But I think he has walked a little slower than he used,
these few last evenings, mother."
 
They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in a
steady, cheerful voice, that only faltered once:
 
"I have known him walk with--I have known him walk
with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed."
 
"And so have I," cried Peter. "Often."
 
"But he was very light to carry," she resumed, intent upon
her work, "and his father loved him so, that it was no
trouble: no trouble. And there is your father at the door!"
 
She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter
--he had need of it, poor fellow--came in. His tea
was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should
help him to it most.
 
Then the two young Cratchits got upon his knees and laid,
each child a little cheek, against his face, as if they said,
"Don't mind it, father. Don't be grieved!"
 
Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the family.
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL by Charles Dickens

He looked at the work upon the table, and praised
the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls.
They would be done long before Sunday, he said.
 
"Sunday! You went to-day, then, Robert?" said his wife.
 
"Yes, my dear," returned Bob. "I wish you could have
gone. It would have done you good to see how green a
place it is. But you'll see it often. I promised him that I
would walk there on a Sunday. My little, little child!"
cried Bob. "My little child!"
 
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