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 ball-room as you would desire to see upon 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 Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable.  In came the six young 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 they all came one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow.  Away they all went, twenty couple 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, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to Stop the dance, cried out, “Well done!” and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter especially provided for that purpose.

There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince pies, and plenty of beer.  But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, when 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 pair 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 twice as many,—­four times,—­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.  A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig’s calves.  They shone in every part of the dance.  You couldn’t have predicted, at any given time, what would become of ’em next.  And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance,—­advance and retire, turn 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.

When the clock struck eleven this 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.  When everybody had retired but the two ’prentices, they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds, which were under a counter in the back shop.