Everybody dies, don't they?

Everybody come back.

Isn't that so?

You tried to get into the locked drawer today, didn't you?

How do the dead come back, mother?

What's the secret?

The Chimes by Charles Dickens.

Of some bells that rang an old year out and a new year in.

Chapter 1. First Quarter

There are not many people, and as it is desirable that a storyteller and a story reader should

establish a mutual understanding as soon as possible, I beg it to be noticed that I can find

this observation, neither to young people nor to little people, but extend it to all conditions

of people, little and big, young and old, yet growing up or

already growing down again. There are not, I say, many people who would care to sleep in a church.

I don't mean at sermon time in warm weather when a thing has actually been done once or twice,

but in the night, and alone.

A great multitude of persons will be violently astonished I know by this position in the broad,

bold day, but it applies to night. It must be argued by night, and I will undertake to

maintain it successfully on any gusty winter's night appointed

for the purpose, with any one opponent chosen from the rest who will meet me singly in an old

churchyard before an old church door, and will previously empower me to lock him in, if needful,

to his satisfaction, until morning. For the night wind has a dismal trick of

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