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　we'll　open　it　together。　Are　you　ready？'
　　'Yes；'　Charlie　said。　'I'm　ready。'
　　'All　right。　You　tear　off　the　first　bit。'
　　'No；'　Charlie　said；　'you　paid　for　it。　You　do　it　all。'
　　The　old　man's　fingers　were　trembling　most　terribly　as　they　fumbled　with　the　wrapper。　'We　don't　have　a　hope；　really；'　he　whispered；　giggling　a　bit。　'You　do　know　we　don't　have　a　hope；　don't　you？'
　　'Yes；'　Charlie　said。　'I　know　that。'
　　They　looked　at　each　other；　and　both　started　giggling　nervously。
　　'Mind　you；'　said　Grandpa　Joe；　'there　is　just　that　tiny　chance　that　it　might　be　the　one；　don't　you　agree？'
　　'Yes；'　Charlie　said。　'Of　course。　Why　don't　you　open　it；　Grandpa？'
　　'All　in　good　time；　my　boy；　all　in　good　time。　Which　end　do　you　think　I　ought　to　open　first？'
　　'That　corner。　The　one　furthest　from　you。　Just　tear　off　a　tiny　bit；　but　not　quite　enough　for　us　to　see　anything。'
　　'Like　that？'　said　the　old　man。
　　'Yes。　Now　a　little　bit　more。'
　　'You　finish　it；'　said　Grandpa　Joe。　'I'm　too　nervous。'
　　'No；　Grandpa。　You　must　do　it　yourself。'
　　'Very　well；　then。　Here　goes。'　He　tore　off　the　wrapper。
　　They　both　stared　at　what　lay　underneath。　It　was　a　bar　of　chocolate　—　nothing　more。
　　All　at　once；　they　both　saw　the　funny　side　of　the　whole　thing；　and　they　burst　into　peals　of　laughter。
　　'What　on　earth's　going　on！'　cried　Grandma　Josephine；　waking　up　suddenly。
　　'Nothing；'　said　Grandpa　Joe。　'You　go　on　back　to　sleep。'
　　10
　　The　Family　Begins　to　Starve
　　During　the　next　two　weeks；　the　weather　turned　very　cold。　First　came　the　snow。　It　began　very　suddenly　one　morning　just　as　Charlie　Bucket　was　getting　dressed　for　school。　Standing　by　the　window；　he　saw　the　huge　flakes　drifting　slowly　down　out　of　an　icy　sky　that　was　the　colour　of　steel。
　　By　evening；　it　lay　four　feet　deep　around　the　tiny　house；　and　Mr　Bucket　had　to　dig　a　path　from　the　front　door　to　the　road。
　　After　the　snow；　there　came　a　freezing　gale　that　blew　for　days　and　days　without　stopping。　And　oh；　how　bitter　cold　it　was！　Everything　that　Charlie　touched　seemed　to　be　made　of　ice；　and　each　time　he　stepped　outside　the　door；　the　wind　was　like　a　knife　on　his　cheek。
　　Inside　the　house；　little　jets　of　freezing　air　came　rushing　in　through　the　sides　of　the　windows　and　under　the　doors；　and　there　was　no　place　to　go　to　escape　them。　The　four　old　ones　lay　silent　and　huddled　in　their　bed；　trying　to　keep　the　cold　out　of　their　bones。　The　excitement　over　the　Golden　Tickets　had　long　since　been　forgotten。　Nobody　in　the　family　gave　a　thought　now　to　anything　except　the　two　vital　problems　of　trying　to　keep　warm　and　trying　to　get　enough　to　eat。
　　There　is　something　about　very　cold　weather　that　gives　one　an　enormous　appetite。　Most　of　us　find　ourselves　beginning　to　crave　rich　steaming　stews　and　hot　apple　pies　and　all　kinds　of　delicious　warming　dishes；　and　because　we　are　all　a　great　deal　luckier　than　we　realize；　we　usually　get　what　we　want　—　or　near　enough。　But　Charlie　Bucket　never　got　what　he　wanted　because　the　family　couldn't　afford　it；　and　as　the　cold　weather　went　on　and　on；　he　became　ravenously　and　desperately　hungry。　Both　bars　of　chocolate；　the　birthday　one　and　the　one　Grandpa　Joe　had　bought；　had　long　since　been　nibbled　away；　and　all　he　got　now　were　those　thin；　cabbagy　meals　three　times　a　day。
　　Then　all　at　once；　the　meals　became　even　thinner。
　　The　reason　for　this　was　that　the　toothpaste　factory；　the　place　where　Mr　Bucket　worked；　suddenly　went　bust　and　had　to　close　down。　Quickly；　Mr　Bucket　tried　to　get　another　job。　But　he　had　no　luck。　In　the　end；　the　only　way　in　which　he　managed　to　earn　a　few　pennies　was　by　shovelling　snow　in　the　streets。　But　it　wasn't　enough　to　buy　even　a　quarter　of　the　food　that　seven　people　needed。　The　situation　became　desperate。　Breakfast　was　a　single　slice　of　bread　for　each　person　now；　and　lunch　was　maybe　half　a　boiled　potato。
　　Slowly　but　surely；　everybody　in　the　house　began　to　starve。
　　And　every　day；　little　Charlie　Bucket；　trudging　through　the　snow　on　his　way　to　school；　would　have　to　pass　Mr　Willy　Wonka's　giant　chocolate　factory。　And　every　day；　as　he　came　near　to　it；　he　would　lift　his　small　pointed　nose　high　in　the　air　and　sniff　the　wonderful　sweet　smell　of　melting　chocolate。　Sometimes；　he　would　stand　motionless　outside　the　gates　for　several　minutes　on　end；　taking　deep　swallowing　breaths　as　though　he　were　trying　to　eat　the　smell　itself。
　　'That　child；'　said　Grandpa　Joe；　poking　his　head　up　from　under　the　blanket　one　icy　morning；　'that　child　has　got　to　have　more　food。　It　doesn't　matter　about　us。　We're　too　old　to　bother　with。　But　a　growing　boy！　He　can't　go　on　like　this！　He's　beginning　to　look　like　a　skeleton！'
　　'What　can　one　do？'　murmured　Grandma　Josephine　miserably。　'He　refuses　to　take　any　of　ours。　I　hear　his　mother　tried　to　slip　her　own　piece　of　bread　on　to　his　plate　at　breakfast　this　morning；　but　he　wouldn't　touch　it。　He　made　her　take　it　back。'
　　'He's　a　fine　little　fellow；'　said　Grandpa　George。　'He　deserves　better　than　this。'
　　The　cruel　weather　went　on　and　on。
　　And　every　day；　Charlie　Bucket　grew　thinner　and　thinner。　His　face　became　frighteningly　white　and　pinched。　The　skin　was　drawn　so　tightly　over　the　cheeks　that　you　could　see　the　shapes　of　the　bones　underneath。　It　seemed　doubtful　whether　he　could　go　on　much　longer　like　this　without　being　dangerously　ill。
　　And　now；　very　calmly；　with　that　curious　wisdom　that　seems　to　e　so　often　to　small　children　in　times　of　hardship；　he　began　to　make　little　changes　here　and　there　in　some　of　the　things　that　he　did；　so　as　to　save　his　strength。　In　the　mornings；　he　left　the　house　ten　minutes　earlier　so　that　he　could　walk　slowly　to　school；　without　ever　having　to　run。　He　sat　quietly　in　the　classroom　during　break；　resting　himself；　while　the　others　rushed　outdoors　and　threw　snowballs　and　wrestled　in　the　snow。　Everything　he　did　now；　he　did　slowly　and　carefully；　to　prevent　exhaustion。
　　Then　one　afternoon；　walking　back　home　with　the　icy　wind　in　his　face　（and　incidentally　feeling　hungrier　than　he　had　ever　felt　before）；　his　eye　was　caught　suddenly　by　something　silvery　lying　in　the　gutter；　in　the　snow。　Charlie　stepped　off　the　kerb　and　bent　down　to　examine　it。　Part　of　it　was　buried　under　the　snow；　but　he　saw　at　once　what　it　was。
　　It　was　a　fifty…pence　piece！
　　Quickly　he　looked　around　him。
　　Had　somebody　just　dropped　it？
　　No　—　that　was　impossible　because　of　the　way　part　of　it　was　buried。
　　Several　people　went　hurrying　past　him　on　the　pavement；　their　chins　sunk　deep　in　the　collars　of　their　coats；　their　feet　crunching　in　the　snow。　None　of　them　was　searching　for　any　money；　none　of　them　was　taking　the　slightest　notice　of　the　small　boy　crouching　in　the　gutter。
　　Then　was　it　his；　this　fifty　pence？
　　Could　he　have　it？
　　Carefully；　Charlie　pulled　it　out　from　under　the　snow。　It　was　damp　and　dirty；　but　otherwise　perfect。
　　A　WHOLE　fifty　pence！
　　He　held　it　tightly　between　his　shivering　fingers；　gazing　down　at　it。　It　meant　one　thing　to　him　at　that　moment；　only　one　thing。　It　meant　FOOD。
　　Automatically；　Charlie　turned　and　began　moving　towards　the　nearest　shop。　It　was　only　ten　paces　away　。　。　。　it　was　a　newspaper　and　stationery　shop；　the　kind　that　sells　almost　everything；　including　sweets　and　cigars　。　。　。　and　what　he　would　do；　he　whispered　quickly　to　himself　。　。　。　he　would　buy　one　luscious　bar　of　chocolate　and　eat　it　all　up；　every　bit　of　it；　right　then　and　there　。　。　。　and　the　rest　of　the　money　he　would　take　straight　back　home　and　give　to　his　mother。
　　11
　　The　Miracle
　　Charlie　entered　the　shop　and　laid　the　damp　fifty　pence　on　the　counter。
　　'One　Wonka's　Whipple…Scrumptious　Fudgemallow　Delight；'　he　said；　remembering　how　much　he　had　loved　the　one　he　had　on　his　birthday。
　　The　man　behind　the　counter　looked　fat　and　well…fed。　He　had　big　lips　and　fat　cheeks　and　a　very　fat　neck。　The　fat　around　his　neck　bulged　out　all　around　the　top　of　his　collar　like　a　rubber　ring。　He　turned　and　reached　behind　him　for　the　chocolate　bar；　then　he　turned　back　again　and　handed　it　to　Charlie。　Charlie　grabbed　it　and　quickly　tore　off　the　wrapper　and　took　an　enormous　bite。　Then　he　took　another　。　。　。　and　another　。　。　。　and　oh；　the　joy　of　being　able　to　cram　large　pieces　of　someth