Humbug Holiday
“It was really cramped in the Cratchit house, and the ceilings were very low. But, amazingly, the Ghost seemed to stuff himself in there without busting a hole through the roof.
“He’s pretty good at that,” I whispered to Frankie.
“Christmas spirit fits in any kind of room,” she said.
I looked at her. “Very deep, Frankie. And smart, too.”
She grinned and handed the book to me. “It’s all in here. Try reading some.”
As I scanned the page we were on, Scrooge slid in next to the ghost and gazed around, shocked at the smallness of the rooms inside. “Cratchit lives here?”
“And his large family, too,” said the ghost.
Finally, Frankie and I stepped in, and a woman about as old as my mom hustled to greet us. From her description in the book, I knew right away it was Mrs. Cratchit. Her dress was worn and tattered, but she smiled just like Bob.
“Merry Christmas, my dears! Can I help you?”
Frankie and I looked for the spirit, but he had already pulled Scrooge off to explore the house.
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