'No, no! Father's coming!' cried the two young
Cratchits. 'Hide, Martha, hide!'
So Martha hid herself, and in came Bob in his thin coat
and long white scarf, with his son Tiny T~m in his arms.
Poor Tiny Tim! He had not walked since he was born,
and although he could pull himself and his thin little legs
along with the help of a wooden crutch, he was not strong
enough to travel far alone.
'Why, where's Martha?' cried Bob, looking round.
'Not coming,' said Mrs Cratchit.
'Not coming!' repeated Bob, his cheerful smile
disappearing. 'Not coming on Christmas Day!'