– Come along, Timothy…
– Maam, but we havent any money… the child replied, eyeing the heavy bag with a shy, uncertain glance.
After Christmas, the town of Canterbury always seemed a little sadder. The fairy lights still clung to the lampposts, but their glow reached no one. People hurried along the emptying streets, the shops no longer bustling, and in quiet houses remained far too much foodand a heavy silence.
In the grand old Bennett home, the Christmas tables had groaned under the weight of feasts, just as they did every year. Fruitcake, roast beef, salads, tangerinesfar more than anyone could possibly need.
Mrs Bennett cleared the plates slowly. She gazed at the leftover food, a lump rising in her throat; she knew that so much would go to waste, and the thought stung.
Compelled by an impulse she could neither name nor resist, she wandered over to the window.
And there she saw him.
Timothy.
He stood just beyond the gate, small and silent, his cap pulled down low and his threadbare coat buttoned tight. He wasnt peering longingly at the house, nor did he seem about to knock. He only waitedtoo timid, perhaps, to hope.
Her heart ached in her chest.
She remembered seeing Timothy in town just before Christmas. Hed stood outside shop windows, nose pressed against the glass, staring at rows of neatly arranged puddings and pies. He never begged. He never bothered anyone. He simply watched, eyes full of hunger and quiet resignationa look she had not been able to forget.
It was then that she understood.
Leaving the plates behind, Mrs Bennett reached for a large carrier bag. Into it she placed bread, fruitcake, slices of cold roast, apples, sweets. She filled another. And another stillwhatever was left from Christmas.
Quietly, she opened the door.
Timothycome here, love.
Startled, the boy inched closer, slow and wary.
Take these home, she said with gentle firmness, holding out the bags.
Timothy froze.
Maam…we…we havent any money…
You neednt pay, she replied softly. Just take it home. Make sure you eat.
His little hands shook as he took the bags, holding them to his chest as though they were something precious, something holy.
Thank you… he whispered, eyes brimming.
Mrs Bennett watched him walk away, moving slower than before, as if afraid to let the moment end.
That evening, in a small, cold cottage, a mother wept with gratitude. A child ate his fill for the first time in weeks. For one precious night, their little family no longer felt alone.
Back in the big house, the tables stood bare, but hearts were full.
For true riches are not what you hold back for yourself,
But what you give when you have every reason not to.
Perhaps Christmas does not end with the turning of a page,
Perhaps it begins the very moment you open your door
and say, Come in.
KINDNESS changes lives. Pass this story on; sometimes the smallest gesture becomes everything.
