NURSE. But bless my soul, this won't do. You must be up in the morning, and it's after midnight now.
BERTHA. What does it matter? I don't dare sit up there alone. I believe the spirits are at work.
NURSE. You see, just what I've said. Mark my words, this house was not built on a lucky spot. What did you hear?
BERTHA. Think of it, I heard some one singing up in the attic!
NURSE. In the attic? At this hour?
BERTHA. Yes, it was such it sorrowful, melancholy song! I never heard anything like it. It sounded as if it came from the store-room, where the cradle stands, you know, to the left— — —
NURSE. Dear me, Dear me! And such a fearful night. It seems as if the chimneys would blow down. "Ah, what is then this earthly life, But grief, afliction and great strife? E'en when fairest it has seemed, Nought but pain it can be deemed." Ah, dear child, may God give us a good Christmas!
BERTHA. Margret, is it true that Father is ill?
NURSE. Yes, I'm afraid he is.
BERTHA. Then we can't keep Christmas eve? But how can he be up and around if he is 111?