



Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Andrea Ball and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.




TEN BOYS from
DICKENS

By
Kate Dickinson Sweetser


Illustrated by
George Alfred Williams

1901




PREFACE


In this small volume there are presented as complete stories the boy-lives
portrayed in the works of Charles Dickens. The boys are followed only to
the threshold of manhood, and in all cases the original text of the story
has been kept, except where of necessity a phrase or paragraph has been
inserted to connect passages;--while the net-work of characters with which
the boys are surrounded in the books from which they are taken, has been
eliminated, except where such characters seem necessary to the development
of the story in hand.

Charles Dickens was a loyal champion of all boys, and underlying his pen
pictures of them was an earnest desire to remedy evils which he had found
existing in London and its suburbs. Poor Jo, who was always being "moved
on," David Copperfield, whose early life was a picture of Dickens' own
childhood, workhouse-reared Oliver, and the miserable wretches at Dotheboy
Hall were no mere creations of an author's vivid imagination. They were
descriptions of living boys, the victims of tyranny and oppression which
Dickens felt he must in some way alleviate. And so he wrote his novels
with the histories in them which affected the London public far more
deeply, of course, than they affect us, and awakened a storm of
indignation and protest.

Schools, work-houses, and other public institutions were subjected to a
rigorous examination, and in consequence several were closed, while all
were greatly improved. Thus, in his sketches of boy-life, Dickens
accomplished his object.

My aim is to bring these sketches, with all their beauty and pathos, to
the notice of the young people of to-day. If through this volume any boy
or girl should be aroused to a keener interest in the great writer, and
should learn to love him and his work, my labour will be richly repaid.

KATE DICKINSON SWEETSER




CONTENTS


TINY TIM

OLIVER TWIST

TOMMY TRADDLES

"DEPUTY"

DOTHEBOYS HALL

DAVID COPPERFIELD

KIT NUBBLES

JO, THE CROSSING SWEEPER

PAUL DOMBEY

PIP




TINY TIM


[Illustration: TINY TIM AND HIS FATHER.]

Charles Dickens has given us no picture of Tiny Tim, but at the thought of
him comes a vision of a delicate figure, less boy than spirit. We seem to
see a face oval in shape and fair in colouring. We see eyes deep-set and
grey, shaded by lashes as dark as the hair parted from the middle of his
low forehead. We see a sunny, patient smile which from time to time lights
up his whole face, and a mouth whose firm, strong lines reveal clearly the
beauty of character, and the happiness of disposition, which were Tiny
Tim's.

He was a rare little chap indeed, and a prime favourite as well. Ask the
Crachits old and young, whose smile they most desired, whose applause they
most coveted, whose errands they almost fought with one another to run,
whose sadness or pain could most affect the family happiness, and with one
voice they would answer, "Tim's!"

It was Christmas Day, and in all the suburbs of London there was to be no
merrier celebration than at the Crachits. To be sure, Bob Crachit had but
fifteen "Bob" himself a week on which to clothe and feed all the little
Crachits, but what they lacked in luxuries they made up in affection and
contentment, and would not have changed places, one of them, with any king
or queen.

While Bob took Tiny Tim to church, preparations for the feast were going
on at home. Mrs. Crachit was dressed in a twice-turned gown, but brave in
ribbons which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid
the cloth, assisted by Belinda, second of her daughters, also brave in
ribbons, while Master Peter Crachit plunged a fork into a saucepan full of
potatoes, getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar (Bob's private
property, conferred upon his son and heir in honour of the day) into his
mouth, but rejoiced to find himself so finely dressed, and yearning to
show his linen in the fashionable Parks.

Two smaller Crachits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that
outside the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own;
and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onions, these young Crachits
danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Crachit to the skies,
while he (not proud, although his collar almost choked him) blew the fire,
until the slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid
to be let out and peeled.

"What has ever got your precious father, then?" said Mrs. Crachit. "And
your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by
half an hour!"

"Here's Martha, mother!" cried the two young Crachits. "_Hurrah_! there's
_such_ a goose, Martha!"

"Why, bless your heart alive, dear, how late you are!" said Mrs. Crachit,
kissing the daughter, who lived away from home, a dozen times. "Well,
never mind as long as you are come!"

"There's father coming!" cried the two young Crachits, who were everywhere
at once. "_Hide_, Martha, _hide_!"

So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at least
three feet of comforter hanging down before him, and his threadbare
clothes darned up and brushed to look seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his
shoulder. Why was the child thus carried? Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a
little crutch and had his limbs supported by an iron frame! Patient little
Tim,--never was he heard to utter a fretful or complaining word. No wonder
they cherished him so tenderly!

"Why, where's our Martha?" cried Bob Crachit looking round.

"Not coming!" said Mrs. Crachit.

"Not coming?" said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits; for
he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church, and had come home
rampant.

"Not coming upon Christmas Day!"

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so
she ran out from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms, while the
two young Crachits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house,
that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper.

"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Crachit; when she had rallied
Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's
content.

"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful,
sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever
heard. He told me, coming home, that 'he hoped the people saw him in the
church, because he was a <DW36>, and it might be pleasant to them to
remember upon Christmas Day, Who made lame beggars walk and blind men
see.'"

Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and it trembled more
when he said that