She hurried out to meet him, and little Bob in his comforter—he had need of it, poor fellow—came in. His tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should help him to it most. Then the two young Cratchits sat upon his knees and laid, each child a little cheek, against his face, as if they said “Don’t mind it, Father. Don’t be grieved.”
Bob was cheerful with them. And spoke pleasantly to all the family. He looked at the work upon the table, and praised the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They would be done long before Sunday, he said.
“Sunday! You went to-day, then, Robert?” said his wife.
“Yes, my dear,” returned Bob. “I wish you could have gone. It would have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you’ll see it often. I promised him I would walk there on a Sunday. My little, little child!” cried Bob. “My little child!”
He broke down all at once. He couldn’t help it. If he could have helped it, he and his child would have been farther apart perhaps than they were.
He left the room, and went upstairs to the little room above, which was lighted cheerfully, and hung with Christmas. There was a chair set close beside the child, and there were signs of someone having been there lately. Poor Bob sat down in it, and when he had thought a little and composed himself, he kissed the little face. He was reconciled to what had happened, and went down again quite happy.
They drew about the fire, and talked; the girls and mother working still. Bob told them of the extraordinary kindness of Mr. Scrooge’s nephew, whom he had scarcely seen but once, and who, meeting him in the street that day, and seeing that he looked a little—“just a little down, you know,” said Bob, inquired what had happened to distress him. “On which,” said Bob, “for he is the pleasantest-spoken gentleman you ever heard, I told him. ‘I am heartily sorry for it, Mr. Cratchit,’ he said, ‘and heartily sorry for your good wife.’ By the bye, how he ever knew THAT, I don’t know.”
“Knew what, my dear?”
“Why, that you were a good wife,” replied Bob.
“Everybody knows that!” said Peter.
“Very well observed, my boy!” cried Bob. “I hope they do. ‘Heartily sorry,’ he said, ‘for your good wife. If I can be of any service to you in any way,’ he said, giving me his card, ‘that’s where I live. Pray come to me.’ Now it wasn’t,” cried Bob, ‘for the sake of anything he might be able to do for us, so much as for his kind way, that this was quite delightful. It really seemed as if he had known our Tiny Tim, and felt with us.”
“I’m sure he’s a good soul!” said Mrs. Cratchit.
“You would be surer of it, my dear,” returned Bob, “If you saw him and spoke to him. I shouldn’t be at all surprised, mark what I say, if he got Peter a better situation.”
“Only hear that, Peter,” said Mrs. Cratchit.
“And then,” cried one of the girls, “Peter will be keeping company with some one, and setting up for himself.”
“Get along with you!” retorted Peter, grinning.
“It’s just as likely as not,” said Bob, “one of these days; though there’s plenty of time for that, my dear. But however and whenever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim—shall we—and this first parting that there was among us?”
“Never, Father!” cried they all.
“And I know,” said Bob, “I know, my dears, that when we recollect how patient and how mild he was, although he was a little, little child; we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it.”
“No, never, Father!” they all cried again.
“I am very happy,” said little Bob, “I am very happy.”
Mrs. Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the two young Cratchits kissed him, and Peter and himself shook hands. Spirit of Tiny Tim, thy childish essence was from God!
Mrs. Cratchit’s surprise at Bob’s remark about them being ready long before Sunday suggests that Bob has in fact stopped to arrange a day and spot for the burial of Tiny Tim. Most filmmakers refuse to believe little Bob is happy, and make this scene, at best, one of temporarily lifted gloom, consistent with the pessimistic future Scrooge is seeing. But no one, if I may add some gloom for the NEXT version, points out that the Cratchits are facing impending doom. Fred, presumably not included in his uncle’s will, cannot do much for the family, and if Bob had retained his position under new management (see next section) he would surely be at work today. The family is likely to be living off the meagre earnings of Peter and Martha for a while. Having considered this, we can now move on to slightly less gloomy versions of the scene.
In Hicks, Bob enters and announces, “My, you’ve been quick. You’ll be done long before Sunday.” The dialogue proceeds through “How green a place it is.” Bob pats his wife’s head and chuckles a bit to show all is well. He sits, continuing the dialogue, but a little slower, and less enthusiastically, with every word. Turning away from the family, he releases a broken “My little child!” and leaves the room. As he moves up the stairs, he must pause to bury his face I his hands. Pulling himself together, he goes into the little room and kneels next to the bed where Tiny Tim is laid out. “My little child!” he cries again. Scrooge looks on in sorrow. Bob kisses the boy and leaves, not without looking back. It is Scrooge who declares, “Tiny Tim, thy childish essence was from God!” Bob is much more himself when he returns to the family. He relates his meeting with Fred, omitting the lines about Peter. Lifting Tim’s crutch and clutching it to him, he notes that whenever and however they part from one another, and so on through “I am very happy.” The children do seem more cheerful, and so does Bob for a moment, though he starts to shake his head.
Owen watches the children run to Bob. They are subdued, compared to their last appearance, but rush to bring him his tea. He does not mention visiting the cemetery, but goes straight to the meeting with Fred, also skipping the section about Peter, moving to recollections of how patient and mild Tim was. He declares himself very happy. Scrooge is NOT happy. “Poor Tim,” he says. “Poor Tiny Tim. Everyone who knew him must feel sorrow; sorrow they’d never feel for ME.” You see a certain suspicion rise in his mind.
Sim I watches Bob enter. “I’m a little late. Forgive me.” “You must be very cold and tired. Come and sit by the fire.” “No no. I am content, my dear. Very content.” He describes his visit to “where he will rest”, and how while there he seemed to feel Tim’s hand in his, Tim’s own way of saying he’s happy now. We must try to be happy too, Bob tells them, and then breaks down, crying “My Tim!” His wife kneels at his side, putting her arms around him. The girls start to cry.
March skips this sequence.
Rathbone watches Bob arrive; the family rush to greet Father, solemn, mournful, silent. Mrs. Cratchit moves slowest of all. Bob explains about meeting Fred, leaving out the little pleasantry about a good wife. When he sits by the empty seat in the chimney corner, it is Martha who says “We shall never forget Tiny Tim, shall we, Peter?” “Never, Martha,” he replies. Bob sets his hand on his wife’s, to a tiny echo of Tim saying “God bless us, every one.” Scrooge, crying a bit, wipes his nose and turns away.
Magoo sees a hunched and depressed Cratchit walking home. At the door, Bob wipes away a tear and pulls himself upright, obviously bracing himself to greet his diminished family. “Sewing away, my dear?” “So late, Robert?” “I…I had something to see to on my way home.” “You went there again?” He tells her about his visit to the grave; here it is Peter who breaks down, crying on his mother’s knee. “Tears cannot bring Tiny Tim back to us,” she tells him. Scrooge exclaims, “Tiny Tim! Oh, no! No no, not Tiny Tim!” The Ghost points to the empty stool and ownerless crutch. Mrs. Cratchit murmurs, “Sleep quietly, my love.” Scrooge asks, “Spirit, could I not have done something so that Tiny Tim might still live?” He plunges his face into his hands. “Have I truly been so heartless?”
As Haddrick watches, Mrs. Cratchit rises and goes to the door. Bob enters and sit in the chair she vacated. The children actually say “Don’t grieve, Father! Don’t mind it!” “No, I’ll try.” He admires their work—which is light brown—and says they will be done long before Sunday. “Sunday! You went there to-day,. Robert?” “Yes. It’s a beautiful place. So green. But you’ll see it often. I promised Tim that I’d walk there on a Sunday.” A sob escapes him. “Try not to tink about it, Father.” Bob mixes the speeches at the end, about not quarreling and not forgetting Tiny Tim, demanding, “Promise me.” They promise. He is still very dejected. Scrooge declares, “Sprit, I hate your domain. Everywhere is death and misery.”
Sim II gets just a look at Bob Sobbing at the bedside. Tim’s face is not visible. Scrooge stares.
Matthau omits the sequence.
In Scott, the family wait for Bob to enter and greet him with “Hello, Father.” Bob sits by the fire. “You’re late,” says Mrs. Cratchit, her tone flat, “We were worried about you.” “The reason I’m late is…because I walked there today.” “Today?” “I couldn’t keep away. It’s so quiet and green. You’ll see it on Sunday. We shall all go on Sunday. I promised him we should all go….” Unable to go on, he hides his face in his daughter’s hair. Scrooge looks on without comment. “Father, please, don’t grieve so.” “I have all of you,” he declares, “A blessing to be thankful for.” Rallying, he goes on “Do you know who I saw?” He tries to tell about his meeting with Fred, but keeps turning away, and finally can’t continue. His wife says that Tim is a part of all of us, but we must go on. “So long as we love each other, he will always be alive.” Bob takes the speech about not forgetting Tim, his wife the lines about not quarreling easily. The children reply, “No, never, father!” Bob declares, “I am a happy man. I am truly happy.” Scrooge nods to the Ghost. “I asked for tenderness and depth of feeling, and you’ve shown me that. Nothing more I need see. Take me home.”
Caine watches Bob walk in. “Hello, my dears!” The children again rush to him, but without the glee of the earlier Christmas. Mrs. Cratchit sends them to set the table, as before, and Bob describes his visit to the churchyard. He picked a spot for Tim “where he can see…. It’s a spot on the hill. You can see the ducks on the river. Tiny Tim always….” Mrs. Cratchit has to finish the sentence: “Tiny Tim always loved watching the ducks on the river.” Scrooge turns. “Oh, Spirit, must there be a Christmas which brings this awful scene? How can we endure it?” There follows aversion of the speech about not forgetting Tim, about how life is made up of meetings and partings. “That is the way of things.” (This line is also used by Yoda, another Muppet, to refer to his own impending demise in “Return of the Jedi”.) The song “Bless Us All” plays in the background as we look at the empty stool and ownerless crutch.
Curry sees Bob walk in. “Sorry I’m late.” “You went there today, Robert?” He explains his visit to the churchyard and, sitting at the table, breaks down. “My little boy!” The family cluster around him; Scrooge is horrified. “No, Spectre, no! No! Not Tiny Tim!” The Ghost points to the empty stool and ownerless crutch. Scrooge covers his face.
Stewart finds Bob already at home; Mrs. Cratchit is saying, “The cemetery! You went today?” Bob describes the visit, breaks down, and goes upstairs to the room where Tim is laid out. “There, Tim,” he murmurs, “Don’t be afraid. We’ll always love you.” Scrooge, looking on, is trying not to break down himself. Returning to the family, Bob tells about the meeting with Fred. He goes on to not forgetting Tim and not quarreling easily among ourselves, and his wife kisses him. “I am very happy!” he declares, “very happy!” Scrooge, bowing his head, turns away.
Two versions take us to Tim’s gravesite for this part of the proceedings. Finney goes to a graveyard where snow lies thick on all the graves (which seems odd for so green a place.) Tim’s song plays in the background as Bob talks to the grave a bit, explaining how he has to go now and help with Christmas dinner. He promises to be back tomorrow, sobs briefly, and walks away, turning his hat in his hands. Scrooge looks from Bob to the grave, and murmurs, “Poor Tiny Tim.”
McDuck turns to look where the Spirit points; the Cratchits stand by a grave. Mrs. Cratchit bundles the children away, leaving a distraught Bob to lay the ownerless crutch against the headstone. He backs up a step and then turns reluctantly to join his remaining family.
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