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THERE was once a man who did not like
Christmas. His name was Scrooge, and he was a hard sour-tempered man
of business, intent only on saving and making money, and caring
nothing for anyone. He paid the poor, hard-working clerk in his
office as little as he could possibly get the work done for, and
lived on as little as possible himself, alone, in two dismal rooms.
He was never merry or comfortable, or happy, and he hated other
people to be so, and that was the reason why he hated Christmas,
because people will be happy at Christmas, you know, if they
possibly can.
Well, it was Christmas eve, a very cold and foggy one, and Mr.
Scrooge, having given his poor clerk unwilling permission to spend
Christmas day at home, locked up his office and went home himself in
a very bad temper. After having taken some gruel as he sat over a
miserable fire in his dismal room, he got into bed, and had
somewonderful and disagreeable dreams, to which we will leave him,
whilst we see how Tiny Tim, the son of his poor clerk, spent
Christmas day.
The name of this clerk was Bob Cratchet. He had a wife and five
other children beside Tim, who was a weak and delicate little
cripple, gentle and patient and loving, with a sweet face of his
own, which no one could help looking at.
It was Mr. Cratchet's delight to carry his little boy out on his
shoulder to see the shops and the people; and to-day he had taken
him to church for the first time.
"Whatever has got your precious father, and your brother Tiny Tim!"
exclaimed Mrs. Cratchet, "here's dinner all ready to be dished up.
I've never known him so late on Christmas day before."
"Here he is, mother!" cried Belinda, and "here he is!" cried the
other children, as Mr. Cratchet came in, his long comforter hanging
three feet from under his threadbare coat; for cold as it was the
poor clerk had no top-coat. Tiny Tim was perched on his father's
shoulder.
"And how did Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchet.
"As good as gold and better," replied his father. "He told me,
coming home, that he hoped the people in church, who saw he was a
cripple, would be pleased to remember on Christmas day who it was
who made the lame to walk."
"Bless his sweet heart!" said the mother in a trembling voice.
Dinner was waiting to be dished up. Mrs. Cratchet proudly placed a
goose upon the table. Belinda brought in the apple sauce, and Peter
the mashed potatoes; the other children set chairs, Tim's as usual
close to his father's; and Tim was so excited that he rapped the
table with his knife, and carried "Hurrah." After the goose came the
pudding, all ablaze, with its sprig of holly in the middle, and was
eaten to the last morsel; then apples and oranges were set upon the
table, and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire, and Mr. Cratchet
served round some hot sweet stuff out of a jug as they closed round
the fire, and said, "A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears, God
bless us." "God bless us, every one," echoed Tiny Tim, and then they
drank each other's health, and Mr. Scrooge's health, and told
stories and sang songs.
Now in one of Mr. Scrooge's dreams on Christmas eve a Christmas
spirit showed him his clerk's home; he saw them all, heard them
drink his health, and he took special note of Tiny Tim himself.
How Mr. Scrooge spent Christmas day we do not know; but on Christmas
night he had more dreams, and the spirit took him again to his
clerk's poor home.
Upstairs, the father, with his face hidden in his hands, sat beside
a little bed, on which lay a tiny figure, white and still. "Tiny Tim
died because his father was too poor to give him what was necessary
to make him well; you kept him poor," said the dream-spirit to Mr.
Scrooge. The father kissed the cold, little face on the bed, and
went down-stairs, where the sprays of holly still remained about the
humble room; and taking his hat, went out, with a wistful glance at
the little crutch in the corner as he shut the door. Mr. Scrooge saw
all this, but, wonderful to relate, he woke the next morning feeling
as he had never felt in his life before.
"Why, I am as light as a feather, and as happy as an angel, and as
merry as a schoolboy," he said to himself. "I hope everybody had a
merry Christmas, and here's a happy New Year to all the world."
Poor Bob Cratchet crept into the office a few minutes late,
expecting to be scolded for it, but his master was there with his
back to a good fire, and actually smiling, and he shook hands with
his clerk, telling him heartily he was going to raise his salary,
and asking quite affectionately after Tiny Tim! "And mind you make
up a good fire in your room before you set to work, Bob," he said,
as he closed his own door.
Bob could hardly believe his eyes and ears, but it was all true.
Such doings as they had on New Year's day had never been seen before
in the Cratchet's home, nor such a turkey as Mr. Scrooge sent them
for dinner. Tiny Tim had his share too, for Tiny Tim did not die,
not a bit of it. Mr. Scrooge was a second father to him from that
day, he wanted for nothing, and grew up strong and hearty. Mr.
Scrooge loved him, and well he might, for was it not Tiny Tim who
had unconsciously, through the Christmas dream-spirit, touched his
hard heart, and caused him to become a good and happy man?
Tiny Tim
Short Story by
Charles Dickens |
