"Yo
Ho! my boys," said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night!
Christmas Eve, Dick! Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have
the shutters up!" cried old
Fezziwig with a sharp clap of his hands, "before a
man can say Jack
Robinson. . . ."
"Hilli-ho!" cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk
with
wonderful agility. "Clear away, my lads, and let's
have lots of room
here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Cheer-up, Ebenezer!"
Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or
couldn't have cleared away with old Fezziwig looking
on. It was done in
a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it
were dismissed from
public life forevermore; the floor was swept and
watered, the lamps
were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the
warehouse was as
snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a ballroom as
you would desire to
see on a winter's night.
In came a fiddler with a music book, and went up to the lofty desk
and
made an orchestra of it and tuned like fifty
stomach-aches. In came
Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came
the three Misses
Fezziwig, beaming and lovable. In came the six
followers whose hearts
they broke. In came all the young men and women
employed in the
business. In came the housemaid with her cousin the
baker. In came the
cook with her brother's particular friend the
milkman. In came the boy
from over the way, who was suspected of not having
board enough from
his master, trying to hide himself behind the girl
from next door but
one who was proved to have had her ears pulled by
her mistress; in they
all came, anyhow and everywhere. Away they all went,
twenty couples at
once; hands half round and back again the other way;
down the middle
and up again; round and round in various stages of
affectionate
grouping, old top couple always turning up in the
wrong place; new top
couple starting off again, as soon as they got
there; all top couples
at last, and not a bottom one to help them.
When this result was brought about the
fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de
Coverley." Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with
Mrs. Fezziwig. Top
couple, too, with a good stiff piece of work cut out
for them; three or
four and twenty pairs of partners; people who were
not to be trifled
with; people who would dance and had no notion of
walking.
But if they had been thrice as many--oh, four times as
many--old
Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so
would Mrs. Fezziwig.
As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every
sense of the term.
If that's not high praise, tell me higher and I'll
use it. A positive
light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They
shone in every
part of the dance like moons. You couldn't have
predicted at any given
time what would become of them next. And when old
Fezziwig and Mrs.
Fezziwig had gone all through the dance, advance and
retire; both hands
to your partner, bow and courtesy, corkscrew, thread
the needle, and
back again to your place; Fezziwig "cut"--cut so
deftly that he
appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his
feet again with a
stagger.
When the clock struck eleven the domestic ball broke up. Mr. and
Mrs.
Fezziwig 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!
