THE CHRISTMAS SCOUT This is the legend of the Christmas Scout. It was told to me first by a small boy, whose faith in the story was absolute. He showed me a toy airplane and said emphatically that it came from the Christmas Scout. The Christmas Scout was returning on Christmas Eve from a party of his relatives, Where he had received all his gifts. He had a sled full of presents, just the things he had been hoping for; and although it was cold, he was warm because he was wearing the new ski jacket for which he had been hinting. It was his favorite gift. In spite of everything, he was not happy. This was because it was to be his first Christmas without his brother who had, during the year, been the tragic victim of a drunk driver. His brother had been a good Scout and a fine example to him. The Christmas Scout had taken a short cut through the Flats hoping he might meet his patrol leader who lived there with his widowed mother. This was a section of town in which many of the poor lived. His patrol leader, one of the best Scouts in the troop, had to work hard. Not that the Christmas Scout was rich. His family was just a step above the Flats. As he hiked down the street, the Christmas Scout caught glimpses of the trees and decorations in many of the homes. He had no intention of prying but suddenly in one glimpse, he had seen a shabby room with two, limp stockings hanging above an empty fireplace. There was a woman seated near them weeping. The stockings reminded him of the way he and his brother had always hung theirs side by side. But they had always found them, the next morning, full to brimming. Then he remembered that he had not done his Good Turn for the day. He knocked at the door. Yes? the sad voice of the woman inquired. May I come in? I am a Scout. You are very welcome, she said, but I cannot help you. I have nothing for my own children. That is why I am here, he replied. You are to choose whatever you need from this sled. Why God bless you! she answered great fully. My little boys will be very happy. She took some candies and a game, the toy airplane, and a puzzle. Then, as she took the new official flashlight, the Scout almost cried out. But he did not. He saw that the stockings were full and turned out to go. Wont you tell me your name? she asked. Just call me the Christmas Scout, he replied. Be was glad to have done the Good Turn but he was not really happier. He had seen that his sorrow was not the only sorrow in the world and, before he got out of the Flats that night, he had given the remainder of his toys away. The Ski jacket had gone to a boy who had none at all. Be trudged homeward, cold and disconsolate. He had given his presents away and he could think of no explanation that he could give his family that would seem reasonable. He wondered how he could make them understand. His parents tried to be patient. But son, I dont see how you could have been so foolish, his mother said. His father was firm. You made your choice son. You know we cannot afford to give you any more presents. The Christmas Scout realized that he seemed foolish in the eyes of his parents and even to a degree in his own, His brother gone, his family disappointed, he suddenly felt dreadfully alone. He had not thought to be rewarded for his generosity, for in the wisdom of his young life, he knew that a good deed should always be its own reward. It would be tarnished otherwise. He did not want his gifts back. The Christmas Scout thought of his brother and sobed himself to sleep. The next morning he came down to find his parents listening to the Christmas on the TV. Then the announcer spoke. Merry Christmas everybody! The nicest Christmas story we have this morning comes from the Flats. It appears that a crippled boy down there has a new sled this morning. Another youngster has a fine ski jacket, and several families have reported that their children have been made happy by the visitation of a Boy Scout who gave no name but simply referred to himself as the Christmas Scout. The boy with he jacket declares that the Scout gave it off his own back. No one can identify him, but the children of the Flats are claiming that the Christmas Scout was a personal representative of old Santa Claus himself. The Christmas Scout felt his fathers arms go around his shoulder and he saw his mother smiling at him through her tears. We are proud of you, son. The Christmas Scout caught his breath. Mother, Father! he cried. This is a happy Christmas after all! The carols came over the air again filling the room with music. And praises sing to God the King, and peace to men on earth
Posted on: Wed, 24 Dec 2014 23:27:30 +0000
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