In spite of the fun and laughter, 13-year-old Frank Wilson
was not happy. It was true he had received all the presents he wanted. And he
enjoyed the traditional Christmas Eve reunions with relatives for the purpose
of exchanging gifts and good wishes. But, Frank was not happy because this was
his first Christmas without his brother, Steve, who during the year, had been
killed by a reckless driver.
Frank missed his brother and the close companionship they had together. Frank
said good-bye to his relatives and explained to his parents that he was leaving
a little early to see a friend; and from there he could walk home. Since it was
cold outside, Frank put on his new plaid jacket. It was his FAVORITE gift. He
placed the other presents on his new sled. Then Frank headed out, hoping to
find the patrol leader of his Boy Scout troop. Frank always felt understood by
him. Though rich in wisdom, he lived in the Flats, the section of town where
most of the poor lived, and his patrol leader did odd jobs to help support his
family.
To Frank's disappointment, his friend was not at home. As Frank hiked down the
street toward home, he caught glimpses of trees and decorations in many of the
small houses. Then, through one front window, he glimpsed a shabby room with
limp stockings hanging over an empty fireplace. A woman was seated nearby . . .
weeping. The stockings reminded him of the way he and his brother had always
hung theirs side by side. The next morning, they would be bursting with
presents.
A sudden thought struck Frank : he had not done his 'good deed' for the day.
Before the impulse passed, he knocked on the door. 'Yes?' the sad voice of the
woman asked. 'May I come in?' asked Frank. 'You are very welcome,' she said,
seeing his sled full of gifts, and assuming he was making a collection, 'but I
have no food or gifts for you. I have nothing for my own children.'
'That's not why I am here,' Frank replied. 'Please choose whatever presents you
would like for your children from the sled.'
'Why, God bless you!' the amazed woman answered gratefully. She selected some
candies, a game, the toy airplane and a puzzle. When she took the Scout
flashlight, Frank almost cried out. Finally, the stockings were full.
'Won't you tell me your name?' she asked, as Frank was leaving.
'Just call me the Christmas Scout,' he replied.
The visit left Frank touched, and with an unexpected flicker of joy in his
heart. He understood that his sorrow was not the only sorrow in the world.
Before he left the Flats, he had given away the remainder of his gifts. The
plaid jacket had gone to a shivering boy.
Now Frank trudged homeward, cold and uneasy. How could he explain to his
parents that he had given his presents away? 'Where are your presents, son?'
asked his father as Frank entered the house.
Frank answered, 'I gave them away.'
'The airplane from Aunt Susan? Your coat from Grandma? Your flashlight? We
thought you were happy with your gifts.'
'I was very happy,' the boy answered quietly.
'But Frank, how could you be so impulsive?' his mother asked. 'How will we
explain to the relatives who spent so much time and gave so much love shopping
for you?'
His father was firm. 'You made your choice, Frank. We cannot afford any more presents.'
With his brother gone, and his family disappointed in him, Frank suddenly felt
dreadfully alone. He had not expected a reward for his generosity, for he knew
that a good deed always should be its own reward. It would be tarnished
otherwise. So he did not want his gifts back; however he wondered if he would
ever again truly recapture joy in his life. He thought he had this evening, but
it had been fleeting. Frank 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. Then 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 teenage boy who simply called himself 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.'
Frank 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 didn't understand. We
are so proud of you, son.'
The carols came over the air again filling the room with music: '. . .Praises
sing to God the King, and peace to men on Earth.'
The Christmas Scout Story 
