ortable 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, and like to have a little money to make themselves and others
comfortable.

Well, it was Christmas eve, a very cold and foggy one, and Mr. Scrooge,
having given his poor clerk permission very unwillingly to spend
Christmas day at home, locked up his office and went home himself in a
very bad temper, and with a cold in his head. 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 Cratchit. He had a wife and five other
children besides Tim, who was a weak and delicate little cripple, and
for this reason was dearly loved by his father and the rest of the
family; not but what he was a dear little boy, too, gentle and patient
and loving, with a sweet face of his own, which no one could help
looking at.

Whenever he could spare the time, it was Mr. Cratchit'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. Cratchit, "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.

In came little Bob, the father, with at least three feet of comforter,
exclusive of the fringe, hanging down before him; and his threadbare
clothes darned up and brushed, to look just as well as possible; and
Tiny 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; for
he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church, and had come home
rampant. "Not coming upon Christmas day!"

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so
she came out sooner than had been agreed upon from behind the
closet-door, and ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits
hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wa