A Christmas Carol : Adapted for Bedtime Reading & Young Readers

Ben Torrent, Adam Fisher, Charles Dickens

Description

A Christmas Carol is one of the most famous Christian literary works in the world. This beautiful adaptation of the original masterpiece makes A Christmas Carol accessible to the youngest fans of great literature. With a slightly simplified storyline, a style tailored to the sensibilities of today's youngest generation, and beautiful color illustrations, children as young as 4 years old will be introduced to an appealing rendering of the message of Christmas in the form of a paperback book or ebook.

Sujets

• 0-6 ans
• Belles histoires
• Belles histoires
• 6-12 ans
• Toute la fiction jeunesse
• Premières lectures
• Religion
• Christianisme
• Fiction Jeunesse
• Histoires du soir
• Bedtime
• Dreams
• Juvenilee Fiction
• Classiques Jeunesse

Informations

• Publié par: Tom eMusic
• Date de parution: 18 novembre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9781623214296
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 8 Mo

Extrait

Charles Dickens

Adapted for Bedtime Reading & Young Readers by Adam Fisher, Ben Torrent, Matthew Zamoyski

Illustrated by Arthur Friday

Cover by Arthur Friday

Edition by Adam Fisher Ben Torrent Matthew Zamoyski

Typesetting by Barbara Dusk

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher.

© Copyright by Tom eMusic, New York 2021

ISBN 978-1-62321-429-6

AT THE OFFICE

crooge and Marley had been business partners S from time immemorial. For longer than any of them could possibly remember, they ran a înance company under the name of ‘Scrooge & Marley’. One day, Mr. Marley died; sad as it was, the oc- currence did not upset Scrooge one bit. On the contrary, during the funeral, with his razor-sharp mind, he conceived a brilliant plan for a success- ful business enterprise that would bring a hand- some proît. In London, Scrooge had made a name for him- self as a miser above all other misers. He did not shrink from pulling out, wringing out, and squeezing out to his advantage anything he laid his hands upon. As sharp as mustard and hard as nails, Scrooge was a veritable bloodsucker. At the same time, he was tight-lipped and would always keep himself to himself. As the years passed by, the icy cold of his heart had shrunk his counte- nance, squeezed his pointed nose into an icicle,

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wrinkled his forehead, lit up his eyes with a cold unfriendly gleam, tightened his livid corpse-like lips and caused his whole posture to remind one of a sharp rod.

One day, on the most beautiful and celebrated day of the year, Christmas Eve, the old miser, too busy to rejoice with others, was sitting in his ofîce. It was bitterly cold, and the thick and frosty fog, so frequent in London in winter, wreaked havoc on passers-by, sparing nobody, rich or poor. Scrooge could hear people attempting to warm themselves

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up by blowing into their cupped hands and stamp- ing their feet. Although the clock chimed three o’clock, the city was already shrouded in darkness. Scrooge sat in the same room as his bookkeeper so as to keep a constant eye on him. In the corner of the ofîce smoldered a single coal glowing on a handful of ashes. The poor wretch was not able to burn more coals, as the coal-scuttle stood intention- ally out of his reach. “Merry Christmas, Uncle! May God bless you with his love!” sounded a young and sonorous voice. The voice belonged to Scrooge’s nephew, who had dropped in unexpectedly. He was obvi- ously very cold for he kept on rubbing his hands, yet he smiled cheerfully. “Young man,” replied Scrooge, “don’t talk rubbish!” “By no means is the feast of Christmas rubbish, dear Uncle,” protested the young man. “But of course it is!” answered Scrooge. “Certainly Christmas doesn’t entitle you to give in to such ru- inous cheerfulness! Even without this folly, you are as poor as a church mouse.”

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“Wait a minute!” retorted his nephew. “Christmas doesn’t entitle you to be so sad. Why on a day like this, do you give in to such a boring chore as bookkeeping? Even without it, you’re as rich as Croesus.” “Yet again you’re talking rubbish!” yelled Scrooge. “What in fact is this Christmas of yours? It is simply a moment of extravagance and running up debts that you won’t be able to pay off. Go to hell with your good cheer!”

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“Your stubbornness causes me pain! A great pain, Uncle! I have come here today to celebrate Christmas, and despite the frosty welcome I re- ceive here, I’m going to rejoice on this exception- al feast. So once more, let me wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. If you should change your mind, you’re invited to dine with us tomorrow.” “Many thanks and good night,” hissed Scrooge curtly. Without a single word more, the nephew made for the entrance to the ofîce. However, he stopped at the accountant’s desk to repeat his Christmas wishes to the poor man. The latter was moved to tears, and though frozen to the bone, received these best wishes far more warmly than the old miser. Thanking him heartily, he showed the guest to the front door. “Yet another fool!” Scrooge growled bitterly, re- suming his work. “My bookkeeper, earning 15 shil- lings per week, burdened with a wife and children, speaks of Merry Christmas?! By jingo, surely even

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in a lunatic asylum, you will înd more reasonable people.” At last there came the moment for closing the ofîce. Scrooge rose to his feet, thereby signaling to the bookkeeper to follow suit. The poor wretch had been looking forwards to this moment for a long time. He blew out the candle, wound a long scarf around his neck and grabbed his hat. “You would rather have a day off tomorrow, wouldn’t you?” asked Scrooge, not even attempt- ing to hide his peevishness. “If you do not mind, sir, that is…”

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“I do mind, a lot! As I see it, you don’t give a damn about me losing money, paying you for a day when you are of no use to the company what- soever.” The bookkeeper dared to point out to his master that it happened only once a year. “That is a poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket just because tomorrow is the twenty-îfth of December, and with impunity to boot!” said Scrooge sarcastically, buttoning his overcoat up to his chin. “So there is nothing for it but to give you the day off tomorrow. But to make up for lost time, please report for duty earlier than usual the day af- ter tomorrow.” The bookkeeper promised solemnly that he would, and Scrooge was left shrugging his shoul- ders and cursing his employee under his breath: “Lazy and good for nothing.” The bookkeeper left hurriedly and rushed home, hoping to get there in time to play ‘blind man’s buff’ with the children before they went to sleep.

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