“Look!” said Annie. “There’s the driver who brought us here! I’ll bet he’s waiting for us!”
Across the street was the red cab pulled by the small, fat horse.
“Great!” said Jack. He dodged the carriage traffic and rushed toward the driver. “Hi! Hi there!” Jack yelled. “Thanks for coming back! We need a ride! We have to follow—” He started to climb into the cab.
“Sorry, no free rides today, boy!” the driver said. “I’ve got mouths to feed at home!” He jiggled his reins, and his horse took off.
Jack nearly fell backward onto the sidewalk. “Wait! Don’t you remember us?” he called. “We’re the young gentlemen from Frog Creek!”
But the driver didn’t seem to hear him in all the traffic.
Annie touched Jack’s arm. “He didn’t recognize us. We don’t look like gentlemen anymore,” she said. “Our clothes are ragged, and we’re covered with soot.”
“Oh, man,” said Jack. “Everyone was nice to us when we looked rich. Now it feels like the whole world’s against us.”
“I’m sorry, it’s all my fault,” said Annie.
“Forget it,” said Jack. “We just have to find Mr. Dickens. Come on. Let’s try to find his carriage.”
Clutching his green bag, Jack led the way down the street. He and Annie half ran, half walked past a long row of shops. As they looked for Mr. Dickens, they passed little girls sewing in the window of a dress shop. They saw boys sweeping trash and polishing boots, and girls selling matches and meat pies. Jack had never seen so many kids working at real jobs.
“Hey, isn’t that him getting out of that carriage?” said Annie. She pointed to an intersection in the distance.
A small man wearing a top hat and carrying a walking stick was climbing down from a cab.
“Yeah, I think it is!” said Jack. “Hurry!”
Jack and Annie ran up the sidewalk, dodging shoppers and merchants. By the time they got to the intersection, Mr. Dickens had disappeared again.
“Darn,” said Annie.
“Let’s keep looking,” said Jack. “If we don’t find him soon, we’ll go back to his house and wait for him outside the gate.”
A light rain began to fall as Jack and Annie started down a crowded, muddy road. They passed shabby shops and rows of small shacks. They passed vendors selling secondhand clothes and hats and shoes. They saw lots of ragged kids hanging around the street.
Jack caught the eye of a big, tough-looking boy slouching against a lamppost with his hands in his pockets. As Jack passed him, the boy looked him over. Jack saw the boy say something to another kid. The two of them started walking after Jack and Annie.
“I think we’re being followed,” Jack said.
“Walk faster,” said Annie.
As Jack and Annie hurried up the muddy street, black smoke from chimneys blended with the rain. The air felt grimy and dirty.
Jack glanced back. The two boys were getting closer to them.
“Run!” said Jack.
Jack and Annie ran past a butcher shop, a bakery, and a cigar store. Jack looked over his shoulder. The boys were running, too!
Jack slipped in the mud and fell. Before he could get up, the tough-looking kid caught up with him. The boy grabbed Jack’s green velvet bag and took off. The magic violin, the bow, and their book were in the bag!
“Help! Stop him!” cried Jack. “He’s got my bag!”
Jack jumped up from the mud and charged after the kid. But the big boy tossed the bag to the other boy.
“That one’s got it now!” Annie yelled, pointing.
Jack and Annie took off after the boy with the stolen bag. Fierce anger made Jack run as fast as he could. He caught up with the kid and wrestled the bag away from him. Then Jack turned around and started running back the way they’d come. Annie followed.
“Stop, thief!” the boy yelled.
Jack and Annie kept running through the black rain, passing the same shops again.
“Stop, thief!” Both boys were yelling now. “Stop, thief!”
Thief! Jack thought wildly. Why were they calling him thief?
But others quickly joined the two boys, chasing after Jack and Annie:
“Stop, thief!” the butcher yelled.
“Stop, thief!” the baker yelled.
“Stop, thief!” the cigar seller yelled.
Even dogs and old ladies joined the chase through the muddy streets.
Jack looked over his shoulder. The two boys and a bunch of grown-ups and dogs were running after him and Annie. Everyone was yelling, “Stop, thief!”
“What should we do?” cried Annie.
“Keep running,” Jack answered. He clutched the green bag closer to his chest and spotted an alley up ahead. “Turn right!” he called.
Jack and Annie ran into the narrow alleyway filled with junk—broken wagon wheels, cracked plates, old pots and pans. The crowd followed them down the alley. Everyone kept shrieking, “Stop, thief!”
As the black rain fell, Jack and Annie scrambled over the rubble, desperately looking for an escape. Soon they came to a dead end. There was nowhere else to run!
Jack and Annie turned around. The crowd was closing in on them. Jack clutched the green bag in his hand. “Get away from us!” he shouted. “This is my bag! It’s mine!”
But the crowd kept moving toward him, led by the two boys who’d stolen the bag. They sneered at Jack. “We’ve got you now, thief,” said one.
“Just hand the bag over to us,” said the other, “or we’ll have to take it.”
“Play the violin, Jack!” said Annie.
Of course! thought Jack. Only magic could save them now! Jack turned his back to the crowd. But before he could unbuckle the bag, someone grabbed him by his shirt collar. Jack looked up.
A large man wearing a blue uniform loomed over him. “I’ll take that bag, boy,” the policeman said, holding out his hand.
Jack handed the policeman his green bag. “But it’s mine, sir!” he tried to explain. “I promise it’s mine!”
“No, it’s mine!” said the kid who’d stolen the bag. “It belonged to my dear, departed father.”
“It is not yours!” Jack said, furious.
“It is!” the boy shouted. “Take him to jail, Officer!”
“Stand back!” the policeman shouted at the kid. “Don’t worry, I will be puttin’ him in jail. But I might be puttin’ you there, too!”
“Jail?” said Jack.
“But, sir, it really is our bag,” said Annie. “Those two kids stole it from us, and my brother just grabbed it back and—”
“Quiet!” the policeman said. “Someone stole it—whether it’s him or him, or maybe you, we’ll soon find out.”
“But I can tell you what’s in it!” said Jack. “I can prove—”
“Quiet! You can make your case to the chief inspector at Scotland Yard!” said the policeman. “Step aside! Let us through!” he yelled at the crowd.
As the crowd parted to make a path, Jack saw the tough kid and his friend slip away down the alley. “They’re running away, sir!” he said.
But the policeman ignored him. “March!” he ordered.
Annie grabbed Jack’s hand and walked close to him. “I’m sorry,” she said, near tears. “I’m so sorry I made us give up our nice clothes.”
“Don’t worry,” said Jack. “You didn’t know this would happen.” He wasn’t mad at Annie. He was mad at the boys who had tried to steal his bag. And he was mad at Merlin, Teddy, and Kathleen! Why had they sent him and Annie to such a terrible place? He didn’t care at all about helping crazy Mr. Dickens anymore. He just wished they were back home in Frog Creek.
“This way!” the policeman ordered. He gave Jack a little push. Jack and Annie turned out of the alley and headed down the street. They walked through the smothering coal smoke and grimy rain.
“Left!” the policeman shouted.
Jack and Annie turned left. The crowd still followed them. Jack kept his head
down. He couldn’t bear to look at the gawkers.
“Hello!” Annie suddenly shouted. “It’s us! Remember us?”
Jack looked up. Who was Annie shouting to?
Standing on the other side of the street was Mr. Dickens.
“It’s us!” Annie called again. “The chimney sweeps in your study! Remember?”
Mr. Dickens scowled, but he started to follow them, walking behind the crowd.
“Help us!” Annie shouted. “Please help us!”
“Quiet, boy!” the policeman barked at Annie.
Mr. Dickens moved briskly toward Jack and Annie, pushing his way through the crowd. “Excuse me, Officer!” he said.
The policeman stopped. He squinted at the small, well-dressed man. “Mr. Dickens? Mr. Charles Dickens?” he said with wonder.
Gasps and whispers went up from the crowd. “It’s him. It’s Charles Dickens, the writer!” the baker said.
“Yes, it is I,” said Mr. Dickens. “I know these sweeps. What seems to be the problem, Officer?”
“The boy stole this bag, sir.” The policeman held up the green velvet bag.
“When? When did he steal that bag?” asked Mr. Dickens.
“Just now, sir. I caught him trying to run off with it,” said the policeman.
“Well, I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Officer,” said Mr. Dickens. “These lads were working at my house earlier today. They had that green bag with them then.”
“Ah, did they now?” said the policeman, looking at Jack.
Jack nodded.
“This lad is innocent,” said Mr. Dickens. He turned and spoke to the crowd. “Do you see what has happened here? If I had not come along, the courts might have thrown this boy in jail for years. Why? Because he has soot on his face and holes in his shoes. How do you think this lad got so dirty? I ask all of you!”
No one in the crowd answered.
“I’ll tell you how,” said Mr. Dickens. “From honest work. And now all of you want to put this innocent, hardworking lad into prison?”
The butcher, the baker, and the cigar seller lowered their gazes. The policeman looked ashamed, too. “Mr. Dickens, forgive me. I shall release him at once,” he said.
“Yes, Officer, release this lad. Return his bag, and think twice before you arrest another child just because he is ragged and poor,” said Mr. Dickens.
The policeman handed the green velvet bag to Jack. “Your bag, boy,” he said. “Good luck on your journey through life. God bless you. And God bless you, Mr. Dickens. Good day.”
“Thank you, Officer. And one last word to all of you,” Mr. Dickens said to the crowd. “Remember, goodness dresses in rags and patches as often as it dresses in velvet and silk.”
The crowd was silent for a moment. Then some people broke into applause.
Mr. Dickens tipped his hat. He put his hands on Jack’s and Annie’s shoulders. “Come, lads. I will walk with you a ways, so no one else will prey upon you,” he said.
“Thanks,” Jack said hoarsely.
Mr. Dickens guided Jack and Annie away from the crowd. He steered them across the street.
“Thanks for helping us,” said Annie. “We’re sorry we ruined your work today. We didn’t mean to.”
“Oh, no, you didn’t ruin my work,” said Mr. Dickens. “It was just that the sudden sight of you reminded me of all the children who sweep our chimneys and work in our mines and factories. You suffer.…” He shook his head. Then he looked at them and tried to smile. “Forgive me, lads. I needn’t tell you about your own hard lives. Instead, you both must tell me about yourselves.”
“Well, first, I’m not a lad,” said Annie. “I’m a girl. My name is Annie.” She took off her cap, and her pigtails fell to her shoulders.
Mr. Dickens’s big eyes grew bigger. “Why, I am speechless!” he sputtered.
Annie shrugged. “Sorry, Mr. Dickens, but this is the real me.”
“Well—well, Annie, I’m delighted to meet the real you!” Mr. Dickens looked at Jack. “And are you also a little girl in disguise?” he asked.
“No!” said Jack. “I’m her brother, Jack.”
“I see,” said Mr. Dickens. “So you are Jack and Annie. Well! I would like it if you both called me Charles.”
“Thank you, Charles,” said Annie.
“So now, Jack and Annie, what exactly happened today with the policeman and the mob?” asked Charles.
“Tell him, Jack,” said Annie.
“No, you tell him,” said Jack. He felt too upset to talk about it.
“Okay, Charles, I’ll tell you,” said Annie.
As Annie told the story of how the boys had stolen the bag, Charles listened carefully, nodding and frowning. His eyebrows jumped up and down. His mouth twitched. He seemed to be feeling everything Annie was describing.
Finally Annie finished, saying, “And then you came, and you know the rest.”
“Remarkable!” said Charles.
“Yes, it was remarkable,” Jack said bitterly.
“No, it is remarkable because it is exactly like a scene in my book Oliver Twist!” said Charles. “Oliver is wrongly accused of picking the pocket of an old man. And the real thieves lead the chase, yelling, ‘Stop, thief!’”
“Really?” said Jack.
“Are you serious?” said Annie. “That happens in your book?”
“Indeed,” said Charles.
“Cool,” said Jack with a little smile.
“Does that make you feel better?” Annie asked Jack.
“Yeah, it does, actually,” he said. “It makes me feel like I’m not alone.”
“Good!” said Charles. “Now, tell me, Jack and Annie, are you hungry?”
Jack and Annie nodded.
“Of course you are!” said Charles. “I imagine you’ve had nothing but watery gruel for days! Let me treat you to a meal that you will never forget! Steak and gravy! Pork pie! Gooseberry jam! Come, we will dine like kings!” He looked at Annie. “And a queen!” he added with a wink.
Night was falling as Charles led Jack and Annie across the street to an old inn. Candles twinkled in the paned windows. Charles ushered them through the door and into a warm dining room. The room had low ceilings with dark wooden beams. A fire crackled in a huge fireplace at one end.
“Ah, Mr. Dickens, welcome! Welcome!” said a man with a pointed nose and small eyes. He bowed low and rubbed his hands together.
“Thank you, Mr. Pinch,” said Charles.
“What brings you to my humble inn today?” Mr. Pinch asked.
“I’ve come to dine with my two friends, Mr. Pinch,” said Charles.
The innkeeper looked down at Jack and Annie. He frowned at their ragged, muddy clothes. “These are your friends, Mr. Dickens?” he said. He wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something bad.
“Yes. They are hardworking children,” said Charles. “And they are quite hungry.”
“I see.…” Mr. Pinch looked fretfully around the room. “Well, what about that table in the corner, Mr. Dickens?”
“Yes, Mr. Pinch, that will be fine,” said Charles.
Mr. Pinch ushered them to the table. A waiter brought them silverware and lit a candle. Some of the diners began to notice Charles Dickens and whispered to one another.
An elegantly dressed couple came over to the table. “Excuse me, Mr. Dickens,” the woman said shyly. “But I want you to know how much my husband and I love your stories.”
“Why, thank you!” said Charles, grinning. “Tell me, what do you love most about them?”
As the couple began talking about their favorite scenes from his books, more people gathered around Charles Dickens.
At the same time, serving people delivered heaping plates of food to the table: baked apples, turkey drumsticks, steak pie, mashed potatoes, brown bread, buttery cheese, dark jam, and steaming cups of tea. Jack and Annie started to eat at once. Gobbling his mashed potatoes, Jack noticed that Charles Dickens didn’t even look at his food. He was too busy laughing and t
alking with his fans.
People all over London love Charles, Jack thought. So why did Merlin send us here? So far Charles was only helping them. They weren’t helping him at all.
“Jack, look,” Annie whispered. She pointed toward a window.
A man and a small boy were staring through the glass, their faces lit by candlelight. The man was leaning on a crutch. He and the boy were both thin and sad-looking.
“They’re staring at Charles,” Jack mumbled, his mouth full of potatoes.
“No, I think they’re staring at our food,” said Annie.
While Charles kept talking with his fans, Annie took a drumstick, two pieces of bread, and a chunk of cheese from her plate. She wrapped them in a napkin. Then she slipped away from the table and out the door of the inn.
Mr. Pinch cried out. He waved his hands and charged to the door. He yelled in a shrill voice, “Come back here, urchin! Where are you going with that?”
Oh, no, not again! thought Jack. He leapt up and ran to the doorway. He pushed past Mr. Pinch and stepped outside into the chilly air.
Annie was standing with the little boy and the man with the crutch. She was offering them her bundle of food.
“Don’t you dare give that food away!” cried Mr. Pinch.
“Why?” said Jack. “She’s not stealing anything. She’s giving them some of her own dinner.”
“What is happening here?” said Charles, stepping outside.
The little boy grabbed the bundle of food from Annie. “Thank you,” he said softly, and he and the man took off. The man’s crutch thumped on the pavement as he hobbled away with the boy.
“That’s right! Get out of here!” Mr. Pinch yelled after them. “No greedy mice begging at my inn! And you, urchin, you had no right to do that!”
“Mr. Pinch, from what I could tell, my young friend was only showing compassion,” said Charles.
“Bah! Foolishness!” said Mr. Pinch. “Rumors will spread now that I give away food!”
“And what harm would come of that?” Charles asked the innkeeper. “You’re rich enough. You can afford to share a bit with those less fortunate.”
“Bah, humbug!” said Mr. Pinch. “Are there no poorhouses to feed them? No workhouses? Let them eat in debtors’ prisons! The father should put the boy to work! There are plenty of factories that would hire him!”
A Ghost Tale for Christmas Time Page 3
