Dickens' Stories About Children Every Child Can Read Read online

  II.

  TINY TIM.

  IT will surprise you all very much to hear that there was once a man whodid not like Christmas. In fact, he had been heard on several occasionsto use the word _humbug_ with regard to it. His name was Scrooge, and hewas a hard, sour-tempered man of business, intent only on saving andmaking money, and caring nothing for anyone. He paid the poor,hard-working clerk in his office as little as he could possibly get thework done for, and lived on as little as possible himself, alone, in twodismal rooms. He was never merry or comfortable or happy, and he hatedother people to be so, and that was the reason why he hated Christmas,because people _will_ be happy at Christmas, you know, if they possiblycan, and like to have a little money to make themselves and otherscomfortable.

  Well, it was Christmas eve, a very cold and foggy one, and Mr. Scrooge,having given his poor clerk permission very unwillingly to spendChristmas day at home, locked up his office and went home himself in avery bad temper, and with a cold in his head. After having taken somegruel as he sat over a miserable fire in his dismal room, he got intobed, and had some wonderful and disagreeable dreams, to which we willleave him, whilst we see how Tiny Tim, the son of his poor clerk, spentChristmas day.

  The name of this clerk was Bob Cratchit. He had a wife and five otherchildren besides Tim, who was a weak and delicate little cripple, andfor this reason was dearly loved by his father and the rest of thefamily; not but what he was a dear little boy, too, gentle and patientand loving, with a sweet face of his own, which no one could helplooking at.

  Whenever he could spare the time, it was Mr. Cratchit's delight to carryhis little boy out on his shoulder to see the shops and the people; andto-day he had taken him to church for the first time.

  "Whatever has got your precious father and your brother Tiny Tim!"exclaimed Mrs. Cratchit, "here's dinner all ready to be dished up. I'venever known him so late on Christmas day before."

  "Here he is, mother!" cried Belinda, and "here he is!" cried the otherchildren.

  In came little Bob, the father, with at least three feet of comforter,exclusive of the fringe, hanging down before him; and his threadbareclothes darned up and brushed, to look just as well as possible; andTiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch,and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!

  "Why, where's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit, looking round.

  "Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit.

  "Not coming!" said Bob, with a sudden dropping in his high spirits; forhe had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church, and had come homerampant. "Not coming upon Christmas day!"

  Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; soshe came out sooner than had been agreed upon from behind thecloset-door, and ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchitshustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that he mighthear the pudding singing in the copper kettle.

  "And how did Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit.

  "As good as gold and better," replied his father. "I think, wife, thechild gets thoughtful, sitting at home so much. He told me, coming home,that he hoped the people in church who saw he was a cripple, would bepleased to remember on Christmas day who it was who made the lame towalk."

  "Bless his sweet heart!" said the mother in a trembling voice, and thefather's voice trembled, too, as he remarked that "Tiny Tim was growingstrong and hearty at last."

  His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came TinyTim before another word was spoken, led by his brother and sister to hisstool beside the fire; while Bob, Master Peter, and the two youngCratchits (who seemed to be everywhere at once) went to fetch the goose,with which they soon returned in high procession.

  Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest ofall birds; a perfect marvel, to which a black swan was a matter ofcourse--and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs.Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissinghot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with tremendous vigor; MissBelinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bobtook Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two youngCratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and,mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lestthey should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. Atlast the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by abreathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along thecarving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did,and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur ofdelight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the twoyoung Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, andfeebly cried Hurrah!

  There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever wassuch a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, size, and cheapness werethe themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashedpotatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, asMrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of abone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at that! Yet everyone hadhad enough, and the youngest Cratchits, in particular, were steeped insage and onions to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being changed byMiss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone--too nervous to bearwitnesses--to take up the pudding and bring it in.

  Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turningout! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back yard andstolen it, while they were merry with the goose--a supposition at whichthe two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors weresupposed.

  Halloo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. Asmell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like aneating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with alaundress' next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minuteMrs. Cratchit entered--flushed, but smiling proudly--with the puddinglike a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half ofhalf-a-quartern of lighted brandy, and decorated with Christmas hollystuck into the top.

  Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that heregarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit sincetheir marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that, now the weight was off hermind, she would confess she had her doubts about the quantity of flour.Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought itwas a small pudding for a large family. It would have been really wickedto do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.

  At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearthswept, and the fire made up. The hot stuff in the jug being tasted, andconsidered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and ashovel full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drewround the hearth in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half aone; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass. Twotumblers and a custard cup without a handle.

  These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as goldengoblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, whilethe chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bobproposed:

  "A merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!"

  Which all the family re-echoed.

  "God bless us everyone!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

  Now I told you that Mr. Scrooge had some disagreeable and wonderfuldreams on Christmas eve, and so he had; and in one of them he dreamtthat a Christmas spirit showed him his clerk's home; he saw them allgathered round the fire, and heard them drink his health, and Tiny Tim'ssong, and he took special note of Tiny Tim himself.

  How Mr. Scrooge spent Christmas day we do not know. He may have remainedin bed, having a cold, but on Christmas night he had more dreams, andin one of his dreams the spirit took him again to his clerk's poor home.The mother was doing some needlework, seated by the table, a teardropped on it now and then, and she said, poor thing, that the work,which was black, hurt her eyes. The children sat, sad a
nd silent, aboutthe room, except Tiny Tim, who was not there. Upstairs the father, withhis face hidden in his hands, sat beside a little bed, on which lay atiny figure, white and still. "My little child, my pretty little child,"he sobbed, as the tears fell through his fingers on to the floor. "TinyTim died because his father was too poor to give him what was necessaryto 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 wentdownstairs, where the sprays of holly still remained about the humbleroom; and taking his hat, went out, with a wistful glance at the littlecrutch in the corner as he shut the door. Mr. Scrooge saw all this, andmany more things as strange and sad, the spirit took care of that; but,wonderful to relate, he woke the next morning feeling a differentman--feeling as he had never felt in his life before. For after all, youknow that what he had seen was no more than a dream; he knew that TinyTim was not dead, and Scrooge was resolved that Tiny Tim should not dieif he could help it.

  "Why, I am as light as a feather, and as happy as an angel, and as merryas a schoolboy," Scrooge said to himself as he skipped into the nextroom to breakfast and threw on all the coals at once, and put two lumpsof sugar in his tea. "I hope everybody had a merry Christmas, and here'sa happy New Year to all the world."

  On that morning, the day after Christmas poor Bob Cratchit crept intothe office a few minutes late, expecting to be roundly abused andscolded for it, but no such thing; his master was there with his back toa good fire, and actually smiling, and he shook hands with his clerk,telling him heartily he was going to raise his salary and asking quiteaffectionately after Tiny Tim! "And mind you make up a good fire in yourroom 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. Suchdoings as they had on New Year's day had never been seen before in theCratchits' 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 fornothing, and grew up strong and hearty. Mr. Scrooge loved him, and wellhe might, for was it not Tiny Tim who had without knowing it, throughthe Christmas dream-spirit, touched his hard heart and caused him tobecome a good and happy man?