The Christmas Scout

The Christmas Scout

Adapted from story by  Samuel D. Bogan

A Scout was going home on a cold Christmas Eve after a party with his relatives.  He had gotten all the gifts he had hoped for.  They were piled on his sled, and he was wearing his favorite – a new plaid jacket.  He wasn’t very happy though, because he missed his brother.

As he took a shortcut through a poor part of town called the Flats, he saw through the window of one house two limp stockings hanging above a cold fireplace.  A woman seated near them was weeping.  He thought about the full stockings he and his brother always had.  He knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” the sad woman asked.

“I am a Boy Scout.  May I come in?”

“You are welcome,” she said, “but I can’t help you.  I don’t even have anything for my own children.”

“That’s why I’m here,” the Scout replied.  “Take whatever you need from this sled.”

“Why, bless you!” she exclaimed.  “My children will be very happy.”

She took candies, a game, a toy airplane, and a puzzle.  When the stockings were full, the Scout turned to go.

“Won’t you tell me your name?” she asked.

“Just call me the Christmas Scout,” he replied.

Before the Scout left the Flats that night, he had given away the rest of his gifts.  The plaid jacket went to a boy who had no jacket at all.

The Scout trudged home, cold and uneasy.  He could think of no reasonable explanation to offer his parents.  He wondered how he could make them understand.

“Where are your presents, Son?” asked his father as he entered the house.

“I gave them away.”

“But we thought you were happy with your gifts.”

“I was – very happy,” the boy answered lamely.

“But how could you be so impulsive?” his mother asked.

His father was firm.  “You made your choice.  We cannot afford any more presents.”

His brother gone, his family disappointed in him the Scout suddenly felt dreadfully alone.  He had not expected a reward for his generosity, he knew a good deed always should be its own reward.  But he thought of his brother and sobbed himself to sleep.

The next morning he came downstairs to find his parents listening to Christmas music on the radio.  The announcer spoke, “Merry Christmas, everybody!  The nicest Christmas story we have this morning comes from the Flats.  A crippled boy down there has a new sled this morning, another youngster has a fine plaid jacket, and several families report that their children were made happy last night by gifts from a teen age boy who simply referred to himself as the Christmas Scout.  No one could identify him, but the children of the Flats claim that the Christmas Scout was a personal representative of old Santa Claus himself.”

The Scout felt his father’s arms go around his shoulders, and he saw his mother smiling through her tears.  “Why didn’t you tell us?  We are so proud of you, Son.”

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.”