ANOTHER CHRISTMAS CAROL
A Short Story
by Jason C. McDonald
Inspired by The Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
This means you can share the work freely with others, but please don’t modify it.
To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/.
This book was set in EB Garamond 08.
http://www.georgduffner.at/ebgaramond/
PREFACE.
I have always loved the story of The Christmas Carol, but often wondered what happened to Scrooge
and the rest after the book ended. When Dickens says that Scrooge “became as good a friend, as good a
master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew,” what does this really look like?
These sorts of thoughts have their ways of working themselves out into the world. One night, I
forget when, I dreamt that I was the much-transformed Scrooge. The details of the adventures I had in that
dream have long faded from my memory, but the spirit of the story lives on.
In the legacy and style of Charles Dickens and his original story, I submit to you Another Christmas
Carol.
-Jason C. McDonald
December 2016
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STAVE I.
THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT.
S
crooge was very much alive, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. That is not to
imply anything particularly wondrous was to happen despite this fact, although the events I am about to
relate to you would be considerably more difficult if he were not.
If anyone doubted Scrooge were alive, they could no doubt seek him out beneath the sign which
bore his name, still hanging above the warehouse door. The name of his late business partner, Marley, had
been painted out to make room for another name, that of Scrooge's present partner, Cratchit. Sometimes
people well-acquainted with the business called Cratchit Marley, and sometimes Cratchit, but the wellmannered former clerk answered to both, and left the business of setting surnames straight to the fiercer of
the partners.
Oh! For all his fierceness, I do not wish to imply that Scrooge were by any means habitually
unpleasant, for that would be altogether untrue. He could at one moment be hard and sharp as a flint, and
the next generous and warm. The latter, all who knew him said, was the more common form of Scrooge. He
reserved the former for those who took his kindness to imply weakness of mind, and even more so for those
who would deal too roughly with his partner.
External cold had little influence on Scrooge. No wind that blew was bitter enough, no falling snow
intent enough upon its purpose, no pelting rain unrelenting enough to put out the fire on the hearth of
Scrooge's heart.
Everyone stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, “My dear Scrooge, how are you?
When will you come to see me?” No beggars had the opportunity to implore him to bestow a trifle, for each
was answered generously before he could ask. No matter how many children asked him what it was o'clock,
how many men or women inquired the way to such and such a place, he would patiently and kindly answer
them. Even the blind men's dogs appeared to know him; and when they saw him coming on, would tug
their owners out to meet him, and then would wag their tails as though in greeting. But what did Scrooge
care? It was the very thing he liked.
Once upon a time – of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve – old Scrooge sat busy in his
counting-house. He did not, as in bygone years, linger there for means of gain or cold business, but rather
for the merrier business of preparation for this, his favorite time of year. Scrooge was still a wise man of
business, ever vigilant that he managed the firm's wealth so as to continually provide for those who relied
upon him.
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The scratching of his quill found echo in that of Cratchit, who was making last check of the books
before closing for the day. The sun was already going down, and both men had their obligations lined up for
the evening. Scrooge's door was open as always, not to keep an eye on his faithful companion, but so he
would know at once when a visitor wandered through the door.
“Hmph. I do believe I've done it at last.” Scrooge set down his quill and leaned back in his chair. “I
am fortunate that numbers agree with me, though I do at times find myself wishing that habitual generosity
did not necessitate such shuffling around of the digits.”
“Well, thou good servant; because thou hast been faithful in a very little, have thou authority over
ten cities,” recited Cratchit.
“I would hardly call this 'very little', my good man, but you quote the scriptures well all the same.”
Scrooge chuckled. “What would I even do with ten cities?” He consulted his pocket watch. “Now, where do
you suppose my dear nephew is? I have a very tight schedule to keep.”
“You go ahead, Mr. Scrooge. I'll accept the dinner invitation on your behalf when he comes along.”
Scrooge stood. “See to it that you do, and make certain you don't neglect to accept your own. It
wouldn't be quite the same without the Cratchits.”
As he stood, the door opened wide, revealing not nephew Fred, but an older gentleman, bearing a
rather heavy book. “Scrooge and Marley, I presume?”
Scrooge grunted and seized his walking cane from its spot by his office door. “My dear sir, Marley has
been dead some twelve years, this very night. The sign over the door makes the present partners quite clear –
Scrooge,” he said, pointing to himself, “and Cratchit.” He pointed to the former clerk.
“My sincerest apologies. The sign over the door is quite well covered in snow by now, and I haven't
been to this part of town in years. Force of habit.”
“If habit so grips you, I would be seriously surprised if you are here seeking a donation.”
“I have been told by nearly every proprietor on this street to seek you out for just such a purpose. I
must say that I have been quite surprised at the recommendation.”
“What would this be for?”
“At this festive season of the year,” the gentleman began, “it is more than usually desirable that...”
“...we should make some slight provision for the poor and destitute.” Scrooge chuckled at the
surprise on the gentleman's face. “I believe your mentor has darkened this door many times before. If you
consult that book of yours, you will find my name already in there.”
The gentleman flipped back quite a number of pages, coughed, and looked up at Scrooge. “So you
have donated before.”
“Indeed I have. The same number shall be sufficient for this year, I should hope?”
“More than sufficient!” cried the gentleman, flipping forward in his book and copying the amount
down in earnest. Then he exchanged pleasantries and departed.
Satisfied, Scrooge smiled to Cratchit. “I shall be about my business, then. Don't leave this office open
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a moment past 5 o'clock!”
“I promise I shan't, Mr. Scrooge, and a merry Christmas to you!”
“And to you as well. Give my best to the family, and I shall see you all at Fred's tomorrow evening.”
Scrooge donned his hat. “Oh, and one thing more? Take an extra slide down Cornhill for me, if you don't
mind.”
Cratchit laughed. “I shall indeed.”
“Ah, to be twenty years younger again!” Scrooge laughed merrily as he shut the door behind him.
Bob Cratchit listened as his business partner whistled a Christmas carol, quite off-key in fact, while walking
off into the winter's evening.
At half past 4 o'clock, Scrooge's nephew Fred threw open the door. “A merry Christmas to you
both.”
“I shall have to repeat your greeting to your uncle, Fred. You're late, and he has already gone out for
the day.”
Fred frowned a little. “Bother. It took me rather longer at the grocer's than I planned on. Hullo,
Bob. I suppose Uncle Scrooge already anticipated my invitation?”
“He did indeed, and he accepts by proxy.”
Fred clapped. “Excellent. And what about you? Will the Cratchit family be joining us as well?”
“We wouldn't miss it for the world, Fred.”
“Wonderful! We shall have the finest feast in all of London.” Fred looked around the little office.
“Where is Tim today?”
“Mr. Scrooge sent him home early to assist Mrs. Cratchit with our Christmas Eve supper. Peter and
Michael won't be home until much later to-night.”
Fred laughed. “Two Christmas suppers, first at home to-night, and then tomorrow at my house. You
are a fortunate man.”
Bob smiled. “I am indeed, although the Christmas Eve supper isn't anything too spectacular. It's just
a chance for us to catch up as a family. That, and Martha is still attempting to master the art of the plum
pudding.”
“Well, that is a most vital skill in housekeeping. Isn't she to be married this spring?”
“Yes, she is, and to a most deserving gentleman.”
“Any chance he might be able to come to dinner tomorrow as well? Any man able to win your
Martha's heart is worth knowing.”
“He'll be at our home to-night, so I will ask him on your behalf.”
“Please do.” Fred tipped his hat. “I shall be off, then. A Merry Christmas to you and yours, Bob.”
“Merry Christmas, Fred.”
As Fred opened the door, allowing a whirling eddy of snow into the warm office, he turned back.
“Oh! Tell my Uncle that the owner of the warehouse near Blackfriars Pier would be willing to entertain an
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offer.”
“Excellent. We'll see to that after the holiday. We need a large enough building for the wood shop
we're opening in the spring. There are plenty of men with good, strong hands in need of a job. Mr. Scrooge
believes they can be trained sufficiently.”
“A wonder people don't think you two are completely off your crumpets, the odd ways you start these
businesses, but there's no arguing with the success of them.”
Bob laughed heartily. “Most people already concluded that Scrooge is half mad, the way he goes on
about those ghosts.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I believe something happened to change him, whether spirit or dream. I also believe you're letting
all the heat out of this office, Fred.”
“Bother, I lost myself for a moment. See you tomorrow, Bob!” Fred shut the door and tromped off
down the street.
Upon the stroke of five, Bob tamped down the fire, locked up the office for Christmas, and departed
for home. The snow was already blowing fierce, but the inclement weather was not enough to prevent him
from taking several slides down Cornhill with the neighborhood boys, plus an extra in Scrooge's absence.
That tradition satisfied, Bob Cratchit made his way towards home.
“Hello, my dears!” Bob announced as he opened the door. The sweet smells of the family's Christmas
Eve dinner met him, followed immediately by the hearty greetings of Tim and Elizabeth. Belinda greeted
her father next, and bid Tim to return to his post tending the fire.
While the Cratchits were far better off now that Bob was a partner in Scrooge's firm, they had grown
to love their little house in Camden Town. Besides, Peter and Michael were both frequently away at their
apprenticeships, and Martha was soon to be married. Mrs. Cratchit had often observed that a larger house
would only serve to increase her workload and sharpen her keen awareness of the decreasing number of
residents.
Bob next greeted Martha. “How goes the plum pudding my dear?”
Martha smiled, though she paled a little. “Oh, father, please don't ask me. Thinking about it makes
me too nervous.” Since Bob's raise some five years prior, Martha had been able to leave her job at the
milliner's and focus fully on learning the finer points of housekeeping under her mother's instruction.
Bob positioned himself strategically beneath the mistletoe and beckoned to his wife. “A merry
Christmas to you, Emily dear.”
“Merry Christmas, love. I have to mash the potatoes, so you'd best come to me.”
“Belinda can take care of that for a moment or two.”
The second daughter bustled into the kitchen. “Yes, mother, let me. Elizabeth has already set the
table, and I have nothing to do.”
“Oh, very well.” Mrs. Cratchit dried her hands and embraced Mr. Cratchit, kissing him. “How are
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things at the office?”
“Marvelous. Everything is all in order, and Mr. Scrooge left on his yearly rounds.”
“I wonder what that man is doing to-night. We've invited him to join us for supper every Christmas
Eve for years, and he always turns us down.” She furrowed her brow. “And I know it isn't anything against us
– he'll come to supper any other day of the year we invite him.”
“Christmas is a special time for Mr. Scrooge, though I must admit, I have no idea what occupies him
so every year.” Bob's musings were cut short by a rustle at the front door.
Peter and Michael stumbled in with the goose, closing the door before too much snow could invite
itself in. The girls left their posts and greeted their brothers with as much enthusiasm as given to their
father. Tim shouted his own greeting, but stayed by the fire, fearing a terrible scolding from Belinda for
abandoning his post once again.
“Hullo Mother, hullo Father.” Peter allowed Martha to take his coat. “It is turning into quite a
storm out there, isn't it?”
“It is indeed.” Bob hugged his sons as they ventured into the warm house. “I've only just arrived
myself. Is Daniel with you?”
“He's outside, wishing the coachman a merry Christmas,” replied Michael. “You know how he likes
to talk so.”
Martha sighed and pushed past the boys, opening the door and shouting into the wind at her fiancé.
“Daniel, either let the coachman leave or invite him in! It's freezing out there.”
After a moment, Daniel appeared in the doorway, looking every bit the part of a young lawyer. He
stomped the snow off of his boots, kissed Martha on the cheek, and closed the door. “Hullo, everyone.”
Before long, the table had been piled with all assortment of delicious foods. After taking their seats
and saying grace, dinner commenced. The joyous sounds of overlapping conversations reverberated off the
walls of the little house. Tim described with much enthusiasm the progress of the whitesmith's shop Scrooge
and Cratchit had started a few months prior. Mr. Cratchit asked Peter and Michael how their
apprenticeships were getting on, and the boys in turned peppered the girls with questions about their
homemaking lessons. Martha dodged all mention of the plum pudding by asking Daniel about his work as a
lawyer.
The matter of the pudding could not be delayed indefinitely, however. Martha soon went to fetch it,
accompanied by Mrs. Cratchit. Before long, Martha entered again, her face glowing, in part by the light of
the brandy flames, and in part with great pride at the accomplishment.
The evening of Christmas Day found the happy company in Fred's sitting room. They had all but
starved themselves that day in expectation of the annual feast, and were now enjoying lively conversation
leading up to dinner. Everyone had arrived – everyone, that is, except Scrooge.
“It is very unlike him,” observed Fred. “My dear uncle has always made a habit of being punctual,
and yet he is nearly an hour late!”
-6-
Bob nodded. “It would be quite a pity to eat without him, but I'm not certain it can be avoided if he
tarries much longer.”
As 6 o'clock came and went, with no sign of the merry old gentleman, the party sat down to
Christmas dinner. Fred ordered the servants to keep careful watch on the door, in case Scrooge should arrive
late. Yet, even as dinner ended, Scrooge was nowhere to be seen.
Everyone retired to the parlor, now more worried than merry.
“Something must have happened to Uncle Scrooge.” Fred's wife ran her fingers along the fabric of
her dress. “It doesn't seem proper to continue making merry of ourselves in light of his unexplained
absence.”
“Only one game seems appropriate about now,” Fred replied, balancing his own two-year-old boy on
his knee. “And that would be to finish this round of hide and seek which Uncle Scrooge has started for us.”
Topper and the rest of Fred's gentleman friends agreed that this sounded like a good plan.
“Let us hope that is all this is – a game, in which we are all 'it'.” Bob kissed his wife and stood. “Boys,
will you come with us?”
“You don't even need to ask, father,” Tim replied, rather somberly. “We most certainly shall.”
“And I as well,” volunteered Daniel. “Only one question – where are we to start looking?”
“At his home, I'd wager.” Bob took his coat from the maid and put it on.
Fred handed his son to his wife. “Ladies, you stay here and try to enjoy yourselves. Uncle Scrooge
wouldn't want everyone to despair on account of his absence, especially on Christmas Day. We'll be back
with him in no time, you'll see.”
Everyone voiced agreement with this optimistic promise, but no one really believed it. Ebenezer
Scrooge was never known to be behind his time.
Once out in the street, the men decided to split into search parties. Topper's group would inquire
after Scrooge to the Metropolitan Police, and then to the hospitals. Peter's group would search along the
river. Meanwhile, Bob, Tim, Fred, and Daniel would undertake the task of retracing Scrooge's steps.
Everyone would meet back at Fred's house in three hours.
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STAVE II.
THE FIRST GIFT.
S
crooge lived in chambers which had belonged to his deceased partner. They were once a gloomy
suite of rooms, in a building once so old and dreary that nobody lived in it but Scrooge. Since his miraculous
transformation some five Christmas Eves ago, he had endeavored to purchase the rest of the building. The
owner, so pleased to be rid of the dismal heap that was the house, sold it to him for less than the stone would
have been worth cut from the quarry.
Content with his own living chambers, Scrooge let out the other rooms as residences. Understand,
by “let out” I mean to say that he allowed any family lacking a home to occupy whichever available room
they desired. As sole payment, the residents would assist in transforming the house into a considerably more
warm and welcoming abode, however their particular talents and skills lent themselves.
By repairs, restorations, and beautifications of every sort, the house and yard had become its own
little Eden within the odd corner of the city that it occupied. Anyone familiar with what the building once
was would have thought that they had stumbled across the wrong oddly-placed residence, if it were not for
the rather memorable door-knocker.
Scrooge told every new tenant of the house the entire tale of that door-knocker, Marley's ghost, and
the three spirits of Christmas. Very few believed him in whole, though the mere fact of his notable
conversion convinced all that something had happened that night.
The scent of another grand Christmas dinner lingered on the air as Bob, Fred, Tim, and Daniel
approached this storied house. Tim seized the door-knocker – though with some reverence, for he believed
the whole tale surrounding it – and rapped at the door with it.
“Hurrah!” came the cry of the children inside, “Master Scrooge is home! Hurrah, hurrah!”
The door was opened by a young woman, supporting an infant with one arm. Her smile faded
slightly. “Can I help you?” She beckoned them inside.
Bob removed his hat. “We are trying to find Mr. Scrooge. I assume that he is not at home?”
“No, sir.” The girl shut the door behind the gentlemen. “He left early this morning, and we were
expecting him home to-night, after his nephew's dinner party. Have you inquired there?”
Fred bowed his head. “Alas, I am the nephew, and there was no Scrooge to be found there. We were
hoping that someone here knew where he has gone.”
“I myself do not, but one of the others might. Come into the drawing room, and we will see if we
can help you.” The young lady led them into the house. All eyes turned towards them as they entered the
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room. Bob recognized several of the people as employees of the firm's various businesses.
The young lady explained their presence. “Master Scrooge was absent from his nephew's dinner party
this evening, and now these gentlemen are trying to find him. Does anyone know where he went this
morning?”
“It is anyone's guess where he is now,” replied one of the men. “It is Mr. Scrooge's habit to take gifts
to the poor and homeless on Christmas Day. Didn't you know that, Mr. Cratchit?”
Bob shook his head. “He never told me what occupied him so. I've often wondered.”
An old lady, presumably a widow, spoke up. “He purchased a dozen wool socks from me this
morning, just before leaving. He pays many of us to make some extra things for his yearly trip.”
“Did he say where he was going first?” asked Fred.
No one seemed to know.
“I remember!” cried one lad at last. “A carriage came 'round for him, and he asked to be taken to a
particular provision merchant in Whitechapel.”
“Do you remember the name of the merchant?” Bob asked the lad.
“Yes. Well, sort of. A tree of some kind. Pine, beech, maple...”
“Edmund Oakes?” ventured Tim.
“Yes, that's it!”
“That makes sense,” Tim explained. “Mr. Scrooge helped Mr. Oakes set up that shop three years ago.
Although, wouldn't the shop be closed Christmas Day?”
“Perhaps Mr. Scrooge made special arrangements,” suggested Daniel.
“If you’re searching for him, perhaps you should take this.” The young lady picked up a sack in the
corner and handed it to Daniel. “Master Scrooge left this behind, quite by accident I’m certain. He may need
it.”
Daniel peered inside. “Books, scarves, tools – these look like Christmas presents.” He nodded to the
young lady. “We’ll see that Mr. Scrooge gets this.”
After thanking everyone for their help, the four gentlemen found an available carriage and departed
for Whitechapel.
The provision merchant’s in question was, as could be guessed on Christmas Day, closed up tight.
The merchant himself was upstairs, gathered around the crackling fire with his small family. Bob and
company mounted the stairs leading to Edmund Oakes’s home above the shop. Fred knocked quite urgently,
until Bob was concerned Oakes would think a stern constable were demanding his immediate attendance to
some matter.
Whether Oakes thought this or not mattered little, for as the door opened, Fred looked every bit the
part the stern constable, but for the wrong attire. Oakes furrowed his bushy, gray brow in concern. “Can I
help you gentlemen?”
Fred removed his hat and stepped over the threshold. “Pardon the intrusion. We are searching for
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my uncle.”
Oakes caught sight of Bob, and he frowned. “You’re looking for Mr. Scrooge? I’m afraid you’ve
missed him by many hours. He came by, accompanied by a young lady, around 7 o’clock this morning and I
opened my shop up for him, as I do every year.”
“Did he say where he was going?” asked Bob.
“Just that he was taking Christmas to those who needed it most.” Oakes ushered the group into the
house and shut the door. “We loaded everything into a handcart.”
Tim jumped into the conversation. “What did he buy?”
“All manner of things – tools, food, and more that I cannot remember now. Mr. Scrooge places
orders with several merchants, and has them delivered here, where he picks them up every Christmas Day.
Pays me handsomely for my trouble, so I’m hardly one to complain.”
“And you have no idea where he went from here?” asked Daniel.
“No sir, I’m afraid I do not. I even asked, but Mr. Scrooge just says he’s going ‘where Christmas is
needed most,’ and laughs. He’s quite incorrigible.” Oakes glanced at Bob. “Pardon my impertinence.”
Bob smiled. “That’s old Scrooge for you; still as secret and self contained as ever when he means to
be.”
“Thank you kindly for your assistance, Mr. Oakes.” Fred bowed slightly. “We’ll leave you to enjoy
your Christmas festivities.”
“Glad to be of service. I hope you find Mr. Scrooge soon, and that he isn’t in any sort of danger.”
“Thank you. We hope for the same.” Bob opened the door.
“Wait!” Mrs. Oakes bustled up to her husband. “As I was listening to your conversation, I just
remembered seeing Mr. Scrooge stop a boy on the street and ask him to pull the hand cart. He asked if the
boy knew his way around The Old Nichol. The boy says, ‘Aye, that I do,’ and Mr. Scrooge paid him a half a
crown for the task.”
“The Old Nichol!” cried Bob. “This time of night, by himself, but for a child!”
“If Uncle Scrooge has gone into the slum, and hasn’t yet emerged, he may be in danger after all.”
Fred tipped his hat again before hurrying down the stairs.
By any standard, The Old Nichol was not a place to be found in even under the best of circumstances.
It was a labyrinth of crumbling buildings, piled on top of one another like sandcastles hastily constructed
and left to the elements. Even if a well-meaning businessman like Mr. Scrooge were to endeavor to purchase
the land and reclaim it for proper construction, the task of determining ownership alone would be
insurmountable. Rent money impossibly trickled down through a pile of landlords as questionable as the
buildings themselves – some who no longer existed, some who pretended themselves non-existent, and some
who never existed at all.
Yet in these conditions lived hundreds of poor families, choosing rather to suffer together with the
Billysweet crumbling about their ears than to suffer apart in the poorhouses. The ways of The Old Nichol
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were foul and narrow, the shops and houses wretched. The people, half-naked against the winter’s chill,
shuffled along. Despair and poverty seemed to permeate every shadowed corner, every filthy puddle, every
darkened archway. The cold seemed thicker and deeper, reaching with icy fingers into each little hovel to
disturb its tenants.
The four good men, wholly unaccustomed to these surroundings, pressed closer together to better
brave the cold and darkness as one.
“Where does one even begin to look?” Daniel rubbed his gloved hands together. None of his
companions could answer.
The shriek of a hinge echoed on the dirty stones of the narrow alley. “Old Joe!” a young woman
called. “Are ye here?”
“Where else would I be, my sweet?”
Tim grabbed at his father’s arm. “It’s Old Joe, from Master Scrooge’s story!” His voice, though barely
above a whisper, bore great urgency. “He may know where to look.”
Bob and Fred exchanged glances, hesitant in part for their doubt of the well-told tale, and in part for
the possibility it could be true. Old Joe, if real as described by Scrooge, would be a sly and dangerous old man.
“I have a few trinkets to sell ye,” said the young woman.
“Let’s see, let’s see.”
Undeterred by the danger of Old Joe’s character, Tim crept towards the doorway. Bob followed him,
Fred and Daniel right behind. The silhouettes of Old Joe and the young woman loomed on the rag screen
that blocked their view of the door.
Old Joe scratched through the small bundle. “I can give you two pence, and not a farthing more.”
“Please, sir, it’s Christmas Day. We’ve eaten nothing for two nights.”
Old Joe’s voice bore no change in his usual gruff manner. “It’s no concern of mine. We all have to
scrape out our living, eh? Generosity would ruin me.”
“I suppose I have no choice, then.” With deep regret in her tone, the woman withdrew something
from her pocket. “This was my father’s pocket watch, God rest his soul. How much will you give me for it?”
Daniel stepped into the building. “Hullo, there!”
“Eh? Come in, and be smart about it.” Old Joe commanded.
Daniel bade his friends to wait and entered the parlor. The smells of tainted fat and grease mingled
with the cold smoky air. He coughed and rounded the rag screen.
Old Joe cast a suspicious eye on the young lawyer. “You’re a fine sort of gentleman to wander in
here.”
“Please pardon the intrusion.” Daniel removed his hat and nodded towards the old watch in the
young lady’s hand. The timepiece had not borne the years well. A heavy tarnish coated the once gleaming
case, the rusted chain looked near to breaking, and the glass face was cracked. “I could not help but
overhear.”
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The young woman turned on Daniel. “What right have ye to stick your well-to-do nose in my
business?”
“I mean no insult of the sort. You are most capable of handling your own business, and I shan't
prevent it.” Daniel produced his own pocket watch. “Only permit me in this, that I offer my own watch in
your good father’s memory.”
Both the young woman and Old Joe stared at Daniel incredulously. The graying man recovered first.
He puffed passionately on his pipe and held out his hand. “Let me see it.”
Daniel placed the watch in Old Joe’s weather-worn hand. He turned it over once or twice before
holding it up to his ear. “A good piece. It looks new.”
“Aye that it is, but four months. What will you give this young lady for it?”
Old Joe took a deep draw from his pipe and blew the smoke straight up in the air. Then he scratched
a number onto the wall. “There’s your account, and don’t ask for more. I’m being generous as it is.”
The young lady put her hand to her mouth, her eyes glistening with tears in the firelight. She slipped
her father’s watch back into her pocket. When she turned to thank the kind stranger, he had already gone.
Without another word, save a whispered “merry Christmas” to Old Joe as she collected her money, she
departed into the night.
Daniel reemerged from the shadows, now accompanied by Bob, Fred, and Tim, and entered Old
Joe’s parlor again.
The gray-haired rascal still sat, puffing away on his pipe. He glared up at the four gentlemen now
before him. “An odd gesture, to be sure. I suppose you all have pocket watches to offer as a favor to young
ladies?”
“We are looking for an older gentleman who came into this quarter with a full handcart earlier
today,” Fred explained.
Old Joe grunted. “You’re looking for one of a hundred such men.”
Bob shook his head. “You misunderstand. He is a man of business, but he brings Christmas to this
part of town as a yearly tradition. His name is Ebenezer Scrooge.”
Old Joe coughed and began to laugh, kicking his feet in the air and throwing his head back until the
men were certain his chair would break and send the sly devil falling backward onto the floor. “Ebenezer
Scrooge!” he cried. “The great changeling! A shrewd businessman by all accounts, generous by some, ruthless
by others. Ho ho! The mythical Ebenezer Scrooge!”
Fred remained unmoved by this display. “We are in earnest.”
Old Joe regained control of himself and stared hard at Fred, a slight smile still on his face. “If you
find him, which you may well find having Christmas supper with hobgoblins and faeries, you are indeed the
cleverest man in the whole of London. Folks who wander in here don’t come out until they want to.”
“We are much obliged to you for your time.”
“Hmph.” Old Joe waved them off. “If you have no further business to conduct, I would encourage
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you to leave my parlor and make room for the next.” A mischievous grin spread across his crooked face.
“Unless you wish to discuss how one catches a house brownie.” He broke out into another round of laughter,
interspersed with fits of coughing.
The four men left in silence, now less certain of their direction than before. None dared voice their
fear of never finding Scrooge, especially with less than three hours to do it.
As if reminding them of the scarcity of time, a nearby clock struck the hour. As the ninth bell’s
solemn chime faded into the song of the wind, a child appeared on the corner. His bright blonde hair
looked like the flame of a candle. He wore a brand new coat over his tattered clothing, and in his newlygloved hands he held a basket.
“Matches, sirs?” He addressed the four men. “I have good matches for sale. 3 half pence a packet.”
Fred produced a penny from his pocket. “We have no need of matches now, but I wonder if you can
tell me where you got that coat?”
“Aye, sir, I can. A kind old gentleman gave it to me.” Although the boy looked no older than eight
summers, old eyes peered out from his flushed face.
Daniel perked up. “Did he give you his name?”
“Yes, he did. I asked who he was, and he says ‘Call me Jacob Fanwig.’ He gave me these gloves too,
and then he went that way. There was a young woman with him, and a boy pulling a hand cart.”
Fred gave the child the penny. “A merry Christmas to you.”
“Merry Christmas, sirs. May you find him.”
The four continued down the narrow street, the way the child had pointed. After a moment, Bob
spoke up. “Don’t you find it odd, what he said at the end? ‘May you find him.’ Whatever did he mean?”
“Hmm.” Daniel furrowed his brow. “Perhaps he inferred we were searching for Scrooge.”
“We never said we were.” Fred stopped and turned around, finding the corner where the match boy
had stood now vacant. “Where has he gone?”
“What an odd name Master Scrooge is using, too. Jacob Fanwig.” Tim seemed to ponder this. “It
would be a fitting pseudonym for such a mission, though. Jacob, for Marley, Fan for his sister, and Wig for
old Fezziwig.”
“A name that remembers the past.” Fred was still looking around for the match boy. “Do you
suppose…?” He shook his head. “No, it couldn’t.”
Bob put a hand on Scrooge’s nephew’s shoulder. “What, Fred?”
“That boy seemed so young, yet somehow very old. It reminds me of my uncle’s story.” Fred
chuckled. “Silly, I know. I’m sure something at dinner just didn’t settle well with my stomach.”
“Beware what you blame on a crumb of cheese,” mused Tim as he continued down the street.
-13-
STAVE III.
THE SECOND GIFT.
A
s the group pushed deeper into The Old Nichol, the foul stench of decay and poverty assailed
their senses. The men had covered their faces with their scarves, hoping to keep the diseased air at bay. Piles
of festering garbage, bones, waste, and the carcasses of dogs and cats littered the narrow alleys. Disheveled
forms shuffled past them in all directions. Some ducked into low doorways leading down into dark, damp,
mould-ridden chambers which they rented for three pence a week. Many buildings showed signs of being
near collapse – the worst being marked as uninhabitable, its tenants crowding into the neighboring rooms.
A chunk of building, dislodged from its perch by too much snow, came tumbling down to the street,
landing in a fetid, half-iced pool with a splash.
One could tell from the grief chiseled into the weathered faces passing by that Scrooge and his
companions had been the only angels anyone had felt the touch of in ever so long, save the touch of the
Angel of Death. The cholera outbreak that had stalked the East End that year still lurked in the darkness. In
the lofty and far-removed opinion of The Times, the deadly disease acted as “the best of all sanitary
reformers.” To the suffering residents of The Old Nichol and the other rookeries of the East End, cholera
came as a rent collector for life itself, seeking the very breath of man as payment.
It took no imagination to discover what drove many of the unfortunate residents of the slums to the
many vices to be found. To their troubled minds, there was no other escape from the daily horrors that
surrounded them. Although hemmed in by two churches, few outsiders ever sought to relieve their pain in
earnest. The new Poor Law only served to strengthen the motivations for living in such deplorable
conditions as these. Charity was rare enough, and charity without the burden of an invisible scarlet letter
was even rarer.
One woman lay sprawled across the alley, with countless others walking around her. Fred stopped,
knelt beside the woman, and attempted to rouse her. She only moaned faintly.
“Here now, yer blocking the path!” one man yelled to Fred.
Fred remained steadfast. “This woman needs help.”
“Her?” The man scowled. “Won’t do no good. She’ll be back there tomorrow night, like every
night.”
“Tomorrow is another day. Let us affect to-night, before she freezes to death.” Fred looked hard at
the man. “What harm would kindness do?”
The man shook his head, but he stooped down and grasped the woman’s ankles. “Get her shoulders.
-14-
We can put her in any of these hallways.” He and Fred carried her through one of the many open doors into
a tenement. They propped her up against the far wall.
“She’ll be fine here until morning,” the man stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Vagrants who can’t afford a room sleep like this all the time.”
They emerged on the street again. “We are much obliged.” Fred tipped his hat. “Is there anything we
can do for you?”
The man cast a suspicious eye on the four. “Not many of your kind come here. What do ye want
from us?”
Bob held up the sack. “Our dear friend came here earlier this evening, we believe, bringing gifts to
anyone in need. We’re looking for him, but we have some of those gifts with us.”
The man shook his head. “I have need of much, but nothing that could be in your sack.”
Tim peered up at him. “What might you need, then?”
The man held out his careworn hands. “Some means of profiting by these.”
Tim nodded. “Do you have any skills?”
“A steady hand and a will to work, nothing more.”
Tim withdrew a note from his pocket, having had the foresight to write several the day before in
preparation for finding workers for the new wood shop. “Report to Scrooge and Cratchit on Monday
morning, 10 o’clock sharp. We may be able to find a situation for you.”
The man took the note, his eyes now shimmering in the lantern light. “Thank’ee.”
As he disappeared down the street, Bob put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “I’m right proud of you. I’m
certain he will be there on Monday morning, with a few friends in tow no doubt.”
Tim beamed. “We have plenty of openings. I know Mr. Scrooge would have wanted me to offer one
to him.”
They continued down the narrow alley, peering in open doorways and dirty or broken windows, ever
watchful for any of Scrooge’s gifts. Now and then, they would spy someone asleep under a heavy blanket or
by an unusually generous fire, sure signs that the person had encountered Ebenezer Scrooge. Yet the group
did not dare disturb the rare, warm comfort of these happy people.
A pair of rats scampered across their path, one of them carrying a sizable piece of an orange rind in
his mouth. Mindful of the rarity of such a delicacy in a place like this, Tim rushed around the corner from
whence the rats had come, in search of the orange’s owner. Bob, Fred, and Daniel followed.
A mound of ashen earth stood bald and black against the winter, the snow only just beginning to
linger on it. Someone had been here, but had likely stolen away into the night with the orange.
“Stand and deliver!” came the hoarse cry. The four men wheeled around to face a scraggly, dirty man
brandishing a knife. “Give me everything you have.”
Fred swung his walking stick deftly at the man’s knife, knocking it clean from his grip. Both hands
now on the stick, he pushed the man up against a wall. “How dare you try to rob your fellow man on such a
-15-
sacred day as this.”
The man trembled. “I don’t mean nothing by it. We all have to live.”
Fred lowered the walking stick and stepped back.
Bob put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “What is your name?”
“Isaac.” The pungent smell of alcohol lingered on the man’s breath.
“And what do you need, Isaac?”
The man stared into Bob’s eyes. “I...I need a coat.”
“Ye fight and war, yet ye have not, because ye ask not.” Bob searched through his own pockets,
removing a few trinkets, which he handed to Tim. Then, he removed his greatcoat and placed it around
Isaac’s shoulders.
Isaac stared at the ground for a moment, before slipping his arms into the sleeves and buttoning up
the great coat with shaking hands. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again as soon as he looked at
Bob, standing there in his waistcoat.
The elder Cratchit continued. “Can you do anything to support yourself besides robbery?”
Isaac shook his head. “No. This is all I know.” He pulled the greatcoat tighter, as if afraid it would be
taken from him again. “No one has ever given me anything, not since I was a very young boy.”
“Where will you be to-night?”
Isaac shrugged. “I have no place to stay.”
Bob put a hand on his shoulder. “Come with us. Our friend may be able to arrange a better situation
for you.”
Isaac nodded, disappearing further into his coat. “Thank you, I shall.” He eyed his weapon, now
laying in a dirty puddle. “But please take my knife. I don’t want it no more.”
Daniel kicked the knife out of the puddle and picked it up, wiping it clean on his own coat. “So,
what are we to do with this?”
“We need to wrap it in something.” Fred began to rummage through the sack they carried. “Ah!
Bob, there’s a blanket in here.”
“Excellent, I’m freezing.” Bob accepted the quilted blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.
“This reminds me of the days when I was Mister Scrooge’s clerk. I used to wrap myself in a comforter to keep
warm.”
Tim brought the lantern closer to Fred and peered into the sack as well. “There are a few wrapped
gifts here.” He reached in and withdrew a rectangular package. “It has your name on it, Fred.”
“Really?” Fred handed the sack to Bob and took the package. “My uncle must have brought our
presents with him, to save a trip back to his house.” He began to untie the string. “We can use the paper to
wrap the knife for now, and...oh!” Fred’s smile broadened. “A copy of Dombey and Son. I’ve read a few of the
serials, and rather enjoyed them. My uncle has given me the whole series in one book! Just published this
year, too.”
-16-
“Now that you’ve unwrapped it, you had better put it somewhere safe, Fred.” Bob looked up at the
snow, still coming down as intent as ever. “Or else it is liable to be ruined before you can read it.”
“Yes, of course.” Fred slid the book into the inner pocket of his greatcoat.
The group continued down the alley the match boy had pointed them down, still searching for signs
of Scrooge, yet finding fewer and fewer.
“What might you be looking for?” boomed a great, deep voice. A large man, uncommonly hefty for
a tenant of Old Nichol, limped towards them, a sack slung over his shoulder. He leaned heavily on a polished
wooden cane.
Daniel nodded to him. “Merry Christmas. We are searching for our friend, by the name of Jacob
Fanwig. Older gentleman, accompanied by a boy with a handcart and a young woman.”
The rag-and-bone man chuckled, his graying whiskers twitching. “A glorious sight to see. They
passed me earlier to-night, giving gifts as they went. Your friend gave me this cane.”
“Did you see where he went?” pressed Daniel.
“I did. Continue two blocks down and turn left. Another three blocks that way, and you’ll see where
I encountered him.”
Bob pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “When was that?”
“Almost five hours ago, I’d say.”
The distant clock sounded the half hour.
“No, make that five hours proper.” The rag-and-bone man laughed again. He rubbed his whitehaired chin. “How time flies. I must continue on my course. I wish you the best in finding your friend.” Still
chuckling to himself, the man limped past the four gentlemen.
“Well, at least we’re on the right track, and we now have a clear direction.” Bob shook his head as
the group hastened down the alley, following the man’s instructions. “But Scrooge could have covered a lot
of ground these past five hours.”
Fred remained optimistic. “If we cannot find him in this round, we at least know where to look. We
just get Topper and the others, send a message to the ladies, and come back for another go at it.”
“I just hope Mr. Scrooge isn’t in any sort of trouble.” Daniel held his lantern out against the driving
snow.
“Did that rag-and-bone man seem to age as we spoke to him?” inquired Tim. “He looked rather out
of place.”
Isaac rubbed his eyes. “Thank’ee for saying something, lad. I thought perhaps I was seeing things.”
“If that’s the second of Uncle Scrooge’s Christmas spirits, then I only hope we find the third before
too long.” Fred turned up his collar. “This storm is getting worse.”
-17-
STAVE IV.
THE THIRD GIFT.
F
or many in London, a snowstorm on Christmas Day carried a certain joy with it. While the
wind and elements beat against the house, one could remain huddled around a fire, sharing in the lingering
cheer of the holiday. Hot chestnuts and a pot of smoking bishop would warm the body, as the delight of
company would warm the soul.
Yet no such comfort or joy could ever be found visiting these darkened archways. The damp walls
and shattered windowpanes did nothing to block the advance of the bitter cold and snow. Even a decent fire
could be considered a luxury. Brighter blazes had resided in the hearth belonging to Jacob Marley, and to
the unreformed Scrooge after him, than could be found in most of the fireplaces in The Old Nichol.
As the group continued down Virginia Row, following the directions of the mysterious rag-andbone man, the sound of crying close by caught Bob’s attention. Following the sound, he ducked into a
doorway of a vacant building. A boy who looked only about ten or eleven years old held a young girl in his
arms. Tears had drawn rivets down his dirty face. The lad caught sight of Bob, and his crying ceased at once.
Fear glinted in his eyes.
“Don’t worry, lad. I won’t hurt you.” Bob knelt down in the muck of the abandoned room. “What’s
your name?”
The boy stared at him, looking trapped. “Thomas.”
“Is this your sister?”
He nodded. “Emily.”
“My wife has the same name.” Bob studied the girl, who lay limp in her brother’s arms. Mud
streaked her blonde hair.
“She’s cold,” reported Thomas, clutching his sister tighter. “We don’t have no parents now. Cholera
took ‘em. Rent collectors threw us out.”
Bob removed the blanket from his shoulders. “Here, now, I’m going to help you.”
Thomas reluctantly allowed Bob to take Emily from his arms. The gentleman tenderly wrapped the
girl in the blanket.
“Come on.” Bob emerged on the street with Emily in his arms. Thomas crept out. His gaze wandered
from one gentleman to the other.
“Where are you going to take us?” Worry laced Thomas’s voice, no doubt afraid of being delivered to
the orphanage or poorhouse.
-18-
Fred put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry, lad. We’ll make sure you and your sister are
well looked after. Do you have any family at all?”
“No sir. It’s just us.” Thomas still looked doubtful of their destination as the group began walking
again. Bob held Emily close to his chest.
After a few minutes, Fred asked, “Thomas, can you read?”
Thomas nodded slowly. “I can. My father taught me. He used to be a man of business, many years
ago.”
Fred withdrew his book from the inner pocket of his greatcoat. “I’d like you to have this, then.
Sometimes it helps to have an escape.”
Thomas snatched the copy of Dombey and Son from Fred’s hands. “Thank’ee, sir!” he cried.
Fred smiled. “Best not read it here, lad. The snow will mar the pages.”
Thomas held the book close to his chest, shielding it from the elements.
“I’m concerned for the girl,” murmured Bob only loud enough for Fred and Daniel to hear. “We
need to get her somewhere warm, and I doubt there is such a place to be found here.”
Fred looked down at Tim, who had struck up a conversation with Thomas. Tim had never wavered
in believing Scrooge’s story, and the young man still held fast to his conviction that the match boy and the
rag-and-bone man had been the first and second spirits of Christmas. It took little imagination to
understand why he had drawn that conclusion. Both strangers seemed somehow out of place in The Old
Nichols, and they both bore striking resemblance to Scrooge’s descriptions of the spirits.
Fred stared into the swirling snow before them, not entirely at peace with the idea. What if the story
were wholly true, and these same spirits who taught Scrooge generosity and goodwill were guiding them
now? He had always regarded Christmas as an honest, loving, and charitable time, but that thought too
often stopped on how it had done him good. Yet the spirits of Christmas were not in his parlor, warm and
bright. They were here.
Fred had never intended to be selfish. Nay, he had always sought to bring joy to others, but his
thoughts had never lingered long with those who had no Christmas. A few coins in the hand of a beggar, a
donation to charity, and much talk about seasonal generosity, but all that added up to a mere tip of the hat.
He had never truly put his heart to their plight, his hands to their aid, his feet to their forgotten alleys.
Bob must have been pondering this same terrible thought, himself a partner in Scrooge’s year-round
generosity, but wholly unfamiliar with the lives of the very people he sought to help. Quite by accident, he
had taken up the habit of keeping all this at arm’s length, shut out of his life by the heavy office door. He, a
man who knew first hand what it meant to be poor!
The two gentlemen exchanged a look of conviction. Bit by bit, moment by moment, they had
forgotten the very truth they once sought to teach to Ebenezer Scrooge.
“If...” began Fred, still unsteady in the idea, “...if Tim is right, and we have been guided, we must
find the third spirit.”
-19-
“The Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come.” Bob shivered, partly from the cold, and partly from the
thought of that ghostly apparition. Scrooge’s description of the spirit suggested it to be a terrible sight. How
much, then, would his human form be?
Bob looked down at little Emily in his arms, her face ashen despite the biting cold. They needed to
find warmth, and soon.
At this moment, the clock tower struck the hour. The tenth bell seemed to hang frozen in the air,
and the wind died. Just ahead of the group, barely illuminated by the lantern, a stooped figure stood
clutching a gnarled wooden cane. The tip of a crooked nose jutted out from under a black hood that hid the
rest of his face.
Fred approached warily. “Good sir, can you help us? We are seeking a gentleman calling himself
Jacob Fanwig. He was with a young woman and a boy, bringing Christmas gifts.”
The hooded man nodded slowly.
Fred hesitated. “Which way did they go?”
As if by great effort, the hooded figure raised his arm. The sleeve fell back enough to reveal a gnarled
hand with one finger outstretched. Slowly, deliberately, he pointed to a door a short ways down the road.
“That door?” Fred asked, pointing the same way. “The closed one with the knocker?”
The hand did not move.
“Thank’ee, sir, and merry Christmas!” Fred bounded towards the door, the rest of the group
hastening behind him. As they drew near the house, they could see firelight flickering through a soot-coated
window. Laughter and talking floated out of the little house. Fred knocked, and then looked back to see if
the hooded man still stood by. He did not.
The door opened a crack, and a girl’s wide-eyed face peered out. Joyous sounds, seeming so foreign
and out of place, spilled out into the street. “Merry Christmas, sirs.”
“Is there a gentleman here named Jacob Fanwig?”
The girl nodded and smiled.
“I’m his nephew. May we come in?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, the girl opened the door wide to admit the entire party. Fred, Bob,
and the others could scarcely believe the sight. Dozens of people, children and adults, had filled the large,
empty room. A fire blazed in the ash-coated hearth. A wooden table in the corner had been piled with all
sorts of food. In the midst of the happy jumble, Ebenezer Scrooge sat beaming by the fire.
Scrooge caught sight of Fred and burst into laughter. “My dear nephew! What a surprise. Bob too,
and Tim! Come in, and join the party.”
Bob hurried the young Emily over to the fire. “Mister Scrooge! We were worried sick when you
didn’t appear at dinner.”
“We thought something terrible had happened.” Fred knelt by his uncle’s side. “We came to find
you and bring you home.”
-20-
Scrooge put a hand on Fred’s cheek. “Didn’t you get my note, nephew?”
Fred furrowed his brow. “No, uncle, it never arrived. We’ve been searching for you for two hours.”
“James!” shouted Scrooge over the hubbub.
A boy of nine trotted over, his cheeks ruddy and his short blonde hair wild about his ears. “Yessir?”
“What became of the note?” Scrooge demanded, his tone now becoming quite severe.
James dipped his head. “When I was halfway there, the wind took it out of my hand, sir.”
Scrooge’s expression softened. “Dear child, why didn’t you tell me? Such matters can be mended
easily, but an honest reputation is not easily repaired.”
“Yessir.” James fished a coin out of his pocket. “Here’s the money back.”
Scrooge closed James’ hand around the coin. “I forgive you, child. Keep the money as a Christmas
gift.” He turned to Fred. “I fell and hurt my leg. It isn’t serious, but it makes walking a little difficult. A
tinker and his wife took me in, and agreed to take me back home in morning when the storm cleared. They
offered to share their supper with me.” He gestured to the merry scene. “We decided to make a Christmas
party of it.”
A proper Christmas party it was, too, as joyous as any ever given by Old Fezziwig, Scrooge’s former
employer, of whom Scrooge spoke often. Folks ate and laughed more heartily than they had in years. Three
of the tinker’s sons had set up their father’s assortment of tins, pots, pans, kettles, buckets, tubs, and various
metal fragments, and were feverishly banging away a happy tune on them, playing as well as any chamber
orchestra could have been expected to under the circumstances. A space had been cleared in the middle of
the room, and folks were dancing – not particularly well, but with twice the joy and vigor of anyone else in
London.
Scrooge had, by his guidance and gifts, created for these poor people the single happiest moment of
the whole live long year. It was the best sort of happiness, simple and pure, but so unbounded that it seemed
to push back the very darkness of The Old Nichols.
Bob stroked little Emily’s face as color began to slowly return. “She’s warming up, at last.”
Scrooge took immediate notice of the girl, and he leaned forward. “What is the matter?”
Bob nodded towards Thomas, whom had been led into the thick of the party by Tim to divert his
attention from his sister’s plight. “We found her and her brother in an abandoned building. Parents died of
cholera. She was unconscious when I got to her.”
Scrooge waved to a young woman standing a few paces off. “Flora! Could you come over here?”
Flora approached. “Yes, Mister Scrooge?”
“Bob found this little girl and her brother in the cold. She won’t wake up. Can you help?”
Flora knelt by Bob’s side and touched Emily’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Let’s change her
into dry clothes and see if we can wake her up.”
Bob shielded the girl with the blanket as Flora dressed her in clean clothes from the stash of gifts
sitting near Scrooge’s chair.
-21-
“Flora accompanies me every year on these little errands,” Scrooge explained. “She’s a schoolmistress,
and she has some training as a midwife.”
Fred studied Flora’s face for a moment. “I feel like my uncle has described you to us before.”
Flora laughed. “You are likely thinking of my mother. I look very much like her.”
Fred and Bob stared at each other, trying to decipher this statement. Where had they heard a
description of Flora’s mother from Mr. Scrooge before?
Fred gasped. “Lord bless me! You’re Belle’s daughter?”
Flora smiled broadly. “That I am. I encountered Mister Scrooge a few days before Christmas four
years ago, while he was purchasing gifts for his yearly rounds. Of course, he recognized me at once, asked me
who my parents were, and introduced himself. Naturally, I was quite taken aback to have his acquaintance,
knowing who he had been from my mother’s stories, but he described to me the whole tale surrounding his
transformation, and that put my mind to ease at once.”
“When I learned of her skills, I asked her to accompany me on that year’s Christmas Day errand,
and she agreed. She has been my companion every year since.” Scrooge sighed contentedly.
“So, you have seen Belle in recent years?” inquired Fred.
Scrooge nodded. “I have, and her most excellent husband. We are friends now, and he supplies me
with some of the provisions for my yearly trip.”
The clock tower struck the quarter hour. Fred frowned. “Uncle, we are due to meet the others back at
my house in less than an hour.”
Scrooge raised his eyebrows. “Others?”
Fred nodded. “Near about the entire dinner party. All the men were out looking for you.”
Scrooge laughed again. “How good to know that I am missed! Of course, we shall go at once.”
Fred went to fetch the others in their party from amidst the merrymaking. He returned a moment
later with Isaac, still wrapped in Bob’s greatcoat. “Uncle, this is Isaac. He is in need of a good place to live.
Can you…?”
Scrooge smiled at Isaac. “You shall come and live with me, then! I have many rooms available.”
Isaac bowed his head. “I cannot pay you, and I have no skills by which I can find employment.”
“Nonsense! To every man is given a talent by his Lord. We shall find yours in time. What say you?”
Isaac nodded. “Thank’ee, good sir. You are too kind.”
Within a few minutes, the little group set out again, now with Scrooge and Flora among their
number. The boy who had pulled the handcart remained at the party, intending to return to his own home
in The Old Nichols later that evening with food for his family and the money he had earned. That same
handcart now served as an ambulance for Scrooge who, despite the pain in his leg, was still as jovial as ever.
He held the now awakened Emily close to his chest, speaking sweetly to the little girl. The blanket had been
wrapped around them both, and Scrooge’s own greatcoat donated to Bob for the time being.
As they neared Bethnel Green Road, and the boundary of The Old Nichol, they passed the parlor of
-22-
Old Joe. Joe himself stood in the doorway, staring up into the snow and holding Daniel’s pocket watch.
Scrooge caught sight of Old Joe and, recognizing him at once, fell silent and sat up straighter in the
handcart.
Old Joe noticed the group. “You found him,” he said, the usual gruffness missing from his voice.
Daniel nodded. “We did, in good company and good spirits. We simply followed the trail of his
generosity, and it led us straight to him.”
Scrooge ducked his head a little at this description.
Old Joe studied the little party, many a hard winter reflecting in his eyes. “It has always been ‘look
after yourself’ in my world. All my life, I have never seen anything else. Never, until I met you.” He
hesitated. “I do not know what to make of it.” Old Joe held out the watch to Daniel. “I cannot keep it. The
young woman’s account shall remain unaltered, but I want you to take your watch back.”
Daniel closed Old Joe’s hand around the watch. “Then keep it for yourself, and may it always remind
you that there is a better way.”
Old Joe stared into Daniel’s eyes for a moment, before slipping the watch into his tattered vest
pocket. He said nothing more, but his expression spoke all that needed to be said.
-23-
STAVE V.
ANOTHER BEGINNING.
W
hat a glorious welcoming Scrooge received as the group arrived at Fred’s house! All had been
worried for the old gentleman’s safety, and were so delighted at his presence and general wellbeing that they
crowded about him, nearly smothering him with joy and affection.
The coachmen that delivered the group to Fred’s doorstep were also ushered into the house and
treated to whatever of the feast they desired, before setting out on their rounds again.
Scrooge was settled into a chair by the fire and brought a generous portion of the dinner, which the
housemaid had the prudence to set aside for him. Food was brought around for Isaac and the children.
Emily, now fully awake, had no trouble eating as much as her older brother, and then some.
Yet unlike in Christmases past, when Scrooge would tell the whole tale of his conversation to an
enraptured, if not incredulous audience, now another story was being told. Bob, Fred, Daniel, and Tim
regaled those present with the events of the evening, each interjecting a neglected detail, an important
realization, or an expounded description.
Scrooge listened with quiet amusement, the credibility of his own story now sufficiently vindicated.
None present doubted that the spirits of Christmas, past, present, and future, had guided the four men in
their search for Scrooge.
As one story ended, the group longed to hear Scrooge’s own tale, despite the late hour. Scrooge
obliged them, weaving the most vivid retelling of the story ever heard. If you had been there, you would
have jumped with the rest of them when, just as Scrooge put the finishing touch on a particularly stark
description of Marley’s ghost, the fire gave off a particularly loud crack.
As the party dispersed for the night, Fred had his housemaid turn down the beds in one of the spare
rooms for Thomas and Emily. Topper saw Scrooge and Isaac home, and the Cratchits returned to their own
cozy dwelling in Camden Town.
“Let me tell you, my dear,” Bob said to Martha as they reached their own front door. “You will be
marrying one of the finest gentlemen in all of London, there is no doubt whatsoever about that.”
Scrooge found that night a most faithful group of companions for his annual visit to The Old
Nichols. The next year found every man and woman in the habit of attending Christmas dinner at Fred’s
house accompanying Scrooge Christmas morning. Each added their own contributions to the stash of gifts.
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Upon arrival at the provision merchant’s in Whitechapel, the load and group were found to be much too
large to travel as one, and they broke into several smaller companies. Between them, scarcely a corner of The
Old Nichol had been left untouched by generosity.
By nightfall, the group retired to Fred’s for a well-earned feast. The children, who had passed the day
with the merry lot at Scrooge’s own house, were hardly tired after this dinner. They would beg to hear every
detail of the day’s adventures. Thomas and Emily, now Fred’s own children by adoption, were chief leaders
in this demand.
When the story had been exhausted, Flora occupied the children with a tale of the search for Captain
Gallagher’s treasure beneath a rock in the woods of Barnalyra. The adults, meanwhile, were all the more
invigorated in spirit by the day’s events and their retelling, and proceeded to occupy themselves with many a
game. Scrooge, the most invigorated of them all, guessed right at Yes and No so often, it was decided that he
should be made “It” to give the other players a chance.
Some people laughed to hear word of the trip into The Old Nichols, insisting that one day’s
generosity did little to ease the daily troubles of the tenants of the rookeries. Scrooge and his friends let
them laugh, knowing that a simple gift of hope, sowing to the future, was worth more than anyone could
appraise.
From that Christmas ever afterwards, it was always said of the firm of Scrooge and Cratchit, and of
all intimately associated with it, that they knew how to keep Christmas well, if anyone alive possessed the
knowledge. May that truly be said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tim so often observed, God bless us, Every
One!
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POSTSCRIPT.
No one knows what triggered the upsurge in charity and intervention in the London rookeries
during the last twenty years of the 19th century. For some, the slums became a sort of sideshow, but for many
others, it became an object of mercy. Missionaries, philanthropists, politicians, and well-meaning
gentlemen and gentlewomen undertook the task of bringing hope to the people of The Old Nichol and the
other rookeries of London.
In 1887, the government ordered The Old Nichol renovated to be reasonably habitable, and three
years later, declared it a slum and had it leveled. The politicians who had witnessed the horrors of the slums
first-hand began to implement laws and measures to offer humane poverty relief, dismantling the disastrous
Poor Law piece by piece.
Perhaps it was the sensational writings of Reverend Osbourne Jay that drew attention to the
deplorable conditions of The Old Nichol. Perhaps the public fascination with the 1888 “Jack the Ripper”
murders in the streets of Whitechapel eventually drew attention to The Old Nichol just adjacent.
Or perhaps a few good men and women, their names now lost to history, dared to penetrate the veil
of Darkest London to bring hope, and inspired others to do the same. It is no stretch to imagine the
reformed Ebenezer Scrooge as this catalyst, seeing as he sprang from the imagination of a man determined
to shed light on the daily struggles of the poor and working class of Victorian England.
I wish I could say that the slums of London, and the world at large, are no more, but they have
merely taken other forms. The poor are still with us, slipping through the cracks of social law. Now, as then,
there are places in need of hope.
Dear reader, what will your part be in making this a better world?
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