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 some wonderful 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.
[Illustration: TINY TIM.
TINY TIM WAS PERCHED ON HIS FATHER'S SHOULDER.]
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?