"Well, show me the way, spirit!" said Scrooge finally. "The night is passing, and time is valuable to me, I know."

"Are you going to show me shadows of the things which haven't happened yet, but will happen in the future?" scrooge asked.

There was no answer.

Again, no reply.

"The third spirit will come at midnight." scrooge suddenly remembered the words of Jacob Marley's ghost, and, lifting his eyes, saw a spirit, all in black, coming slowly towards him. It was a tall, silent figure, wearing a long black robe which hid its head and body. When it came close to him, it stopped and pointed onwards with one hand. Scrooge was more afraid of this spirit than he had been of the others, and his voice was shaking as he asked, "Are you the spirit of Christmas Yet to Come?" the ghost neither spoke nor moved, but still pointed onwards.

"Ghost of the future!" he continued. "You frighten me very much, but I think you can help me to change my life. I'll be very grateful to you if you show me the future. Won't you speak to me?"

"Why, what was the matter with him?" asked a third.

They all laughed at this. Scrooge knew the men, and looked towards the spirit, hoping it would explain what the conversation meant. But the ghost moved on, pointing at two more men. Scrooge listened again. He knew these men well. They were rich and important, and he had often done business with them.

"How are you?" replied the other.

"Well!" said the first. "The old man has died at last, has he?"

"I've no idea," replied the fat man, looking bored. "who cares?"

"I haven't heard," said the fat man. "He hasn't left it to me, that's all I know."

"No, I don't know much about it," said one fat man. "I only know he's dead."

The ghost moved away, with Scrooge following in its shadow. Suddenly they were in the heart of the capital, among the businessmen and moneylenders. The ghost pointed to one small group of men, so Scrooge went closer to listen to their conversation.

"How are you?" said one.

"When did he die?" asked another man.

"What's he done with his money?" asked a red-faced gentleman.

"Last night, I think."

Scrooge wondered why the spirit wanted him to hear these conversations. What could they mean? The dead man could not be his partner Jacob, because he was already dead.

Not another word. That was the end of their meeting.

Scrooge watched carefully, trying to understand. He looked round for his own shadow, but could not see himself anywhere. "Perhaps that's not surprising," he thought, "because if I change my life, and I'm planning to do that, I won't be the same person in the future!" Just then he noticed the spirit, standing quiet and dark beside him, with its pointing hand. He felt the unseen eyes staring fixedly at him behind the black robe Scrooge's body shook, and he felt cold.

"Nice and frosty for Christmas. Good morning!"

"So they tell me," replied the second. "Cold, isn't it?"

They left the busy offices and banks, and went to another part of the capital, where Scrooge had never been before. The streets were narrow and dirty, the houses miserably poor, the people unwashed and half-dressed. Down one street there was a small shop, where an old man was sitting waiting for customers. His business was buying old furniture or clothes, and selling them again, to the poorest people in London. As Scrooge and the spirit watched, three women arrived at the shop door at the same time, each carrying a large bundle. They looked very surprised and a little ashamed to see each other. Suddenly they all started laughing.

"Ladies, you couldn't find a better place to meet," said Joe, the old man, getting up. "Now come inside, and show me what you've got to sell."

"Very true," agreed the third.

Inside, the first woman put her bundle on the table and said, "I don't care if everybody knows where this comes from! We all have to take care of ourselves! He always did!"

"He was a bad man, we all know that," said the third.

"That's right," agreed the second woman.

"Does a dead man need these things?" continued the first woman. "And why was he so mean while he was alive? We all worked for him, didn't we? Cleaned his house, washed his clothes, cooked his soup? And what did we get? Three shillings a week! It's no surprise that he died alone, with no friends around him!"

"You never spoke a truer word," said the second.

"Now what have we here?" said old Joe, opening the women's bundles. "Buttons, pencils, boots, silver spoons, some excellent bed-curtains, blankets and -- a very good shirt," he added, feeling the fine cotton.

"Yes, it was his best," said the first woman. "They put it on him after he died. But he doesn't need it now that he's dead! And the blankets and bed-curtains! He doesn't need them either!"

"You took the shirt off a dead body, and the blankets and curtains off his bed, while he was lying there! Well, well!" said Joe, shaking his head. "Here's your money." And he counted out several shillings into the women's hands.

"How sad," thought Scrooge, "to die with no friends or family around him! To lie in an empty room, with no candles or flowers, and robbed of his clothes! To know that nobody loves him, because he loved nobody in his life! Money can't buy a happy life, or a peaceful death!" He looked at the spirit, whose hand was pointing at the man's covered head. It would be easy to lift the sheet, and see who the man was. But for some reason Scrooge could not do it.

"Ha ha ha!" laughed the first woman. "He frightened everyone away when he was alive, and we've made money out of him now that he's dead! Ha ha ha!"

Scrooge felt sick and angry at the same time. "Spirit," he said, "I see now. I could be that unhappy man. Good Heavens, what's this?"

Joe and the women had disappeared, and Scrooge was standing in a dark room. Opposite him was a bed, with no blankets or curtains. A light shone down from above, on to the body of a dead man, covered with a sheet.

"Spirit," he said, "this is a terrible place. Let's go!"

"I understand you, but I can't look at him, spirit, I can't!" said Scrooge wildly. "If there's anyone in this town who feels anything at this man's death, show that person to me, spirit, please!"

Still the ghost's unmoving finger pointed at the man's head.

"There is still hope, Caroline," he replied.

For a moment the spirit lifted its dark robe like a wing, and showed Scrooge a room, where a mother and her children were sitting. The young woman kept looking at the clock, and when her husband arrived, she hurried to meet him.

"What -- what is the news?" she asked him worriedly. "Is it good!… or… or bad?"

"How can there be hope? If that hard, mean old man wants us to pay back the money now, they'll send us to prison! We haven't got enough to pay him!"

"Thank God for that!" cried the young woman from her heart. The next moment she realized what she had said. "Oh, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry if anyone dies."

"He is dead, Caroline," answered her husband.

"Perhaps the person who inherits his business will give us more time to pay the money back. And we'll have the money by then. Tonight we can sleep well, Caroline!"

"So, spirit," said Scrooge in a broken voice, "you can show me only happiness at this man's death. It frightens me, spirit. Show me, please, that there can be sadness at a death."

The ghost took him silently through the streets, to poor Bob Cratchit's house. The room seemed strangely quiet. The mother and her daughters were making a small white cotton shirt together, while the usually noisy young Cratchits sat silently in a corner, and Peter was reading a book. Mrs Cratchit put her work down on the table, and covered her face with her hand.

"The colour hurts my eyes," she said. The colour? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!

"He's a bit late," said Peter, "but I think he's walked more slowly these last few days, mother."

They're a little better now," she went on. "It's difficult to work by candlelight. And I don't want to show red eyes to your father when he comes home."

They were very quiet again. At last she said bravely, "I've known him walk with -- with Tiny Tim in his arms, very fast indeed."

"But he was very light to carry, and your father loved him so much! And there's your father at the door now!" she got up quickly to kiss Bob as he came in. He looked tired and thin, and needed his long scarf, poor man! Martha took his boots and scarf off, and Belinda brought him his tea, and the little Cratchits sat close to him. He was very cheerful with all of them, and was pleased with the little shirt that his wife and daughters were making.

"So have I," cried Peter. "Often!"

"It'll be ready long before Sunday, won't it?" he said.

"Yes, my dear. You'd love to see it. It's a beautiful green place. But you'll see it often. I promised him that we would go there every Sunday. My little, little child!" cried Bob, hiding his face in his hands. He had loved the boy very much.

"Sunday! You went there today, then, Bob?" asked his wife.

He went upstairs to the quiet bedroom, where the child lay. Poor Bob sat down beside him, and when he felt calmer, he kissed the little face, and went downstairs again, almost happy.

"Never, father!" they all cried.

"My dears," he said to his children, "one of these days some of you will marry and leave home. In a few year's time perhaps all of you will. But I'm sure none of us will ever forget Tiny Tim, will we?"

"And I know," said Bob, "that when we remember how patient and gentle he was, although he was only a little child, we won't argue among ourselves. We'll remember poor Tiny Tim, and love each other!"

"We will, father!" they all cried again.

"Spirit," said Scrooge, "I know that you will leave me soon. Tell me who that dead man on the bed was!"

"I am very happy," said Bob. "I am very happy!" Mrs Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the two young Cratchits kissed him, and he and Peter shook hands. Tiny Tim, your goodness lives on in your family!

No answer came in words, but the ghost of Christmas Yet to Come took Scrooge through the streets of London again.

"Wait a moment," said Scrooge. "We're passing my office. Let me see how I shall look in the future!"

The spirit stopped. Its hand was pointing away from the office. But Scrooge hurried up to the window and looked in. It was an office still, but not his. The furniture was not the same, and the figure in the chair was not himself. The ghost continued to point onwards, and Scrooge followed. They reached a church, and entered the churchyard. Here, among the untidy graves and the uncut grass, lay the miserable man whose name Scrooge would soon learn. It was a lonely place, most suitable for a man so unloved.

"No, spirit! Oh, no, no!"

"Good spirit, tell me that my future will change, if I change my life now!"

For the first time the hand appeared to shake.

The finger was still there.

"I will remember the past, and think of the future. I will be good to other people. I will keep Christmas in my heart, and will try to be kind, and cheerful, and merry, every day. Oh, tell me I can clean away the writing on this stone!"

"Am I that man who was lying on the bed?" he cried.

Scrooge was strangely afraid.

The kind hand shook again.

Scrooge fell to the ground in front of the ghost, holding its long dark robe. "Spirit! Listen! I am a changed man! I have learnt my lesson from you spirits! Why show me this terrible end, if there is no hope for me!"

The spirit pointed from the grave to him, and back again.

"Before I look more closely at that gravestone," he said, "answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that will be, or are they only shadows of the things that may be?"

The spirit stood and pointed down at one of the graves.

Without replying, the ghost pointed silently down at the grave. Scrooge moved slowly towards it, and following the finger, read on the stone his own name, EBENEZER SCROOGE.

Wildly, he caught the ghostly hand and held it for a moment. But the spirit was stronger than him, and pulled its hand away. Just then Scrooge noticed that something strange was happening to the spirit. It was getting smaller and smaller, and suddenly it became -- a bedpost.