First Imp. That is an ice-cream cone. All children love to eat them.
Second Imp. Why, I could make one of those. If I took a tin trumpet from Santa Claus's toy-shop and piled it full of snow 'twould be just the same thing, wouldn't it?
First Imp. No—for even if you were to eat the snow all up, the tin trumpet would still be left in your hand. But there's never anything left of an ice-cream cone. Didn't you notice how quickly this one went, almost as soon as it came?
Second Imp. But that is because it was only a dream.
First Imp. That hasn't anything to do with it. A real ice-cream cone wouldn't have lasted much longer. Sh! Who's coming now? (As the Ice-Cream Cone disappears the music stops, and the light grows bright again. The Little Girl enters at the R. She is wrapped in a muffler and carries a lighted lantern. Coming toward the front of the stage she stops in terror on seeing the Imps.) Don't be frightened, little girl. We're only Santa Claus's imps. We won't hurt you.
Little Girl. Then this really is where Santa Claus lives, and I didn't make a mistake in the place? Please tell me, is Santa Claus at home? Oh, there he is asleep by the fire. (She puts her lantern on the floor and goes up to Santa Claus.) Santa Claus! Dear Santa Claus! Please wake up. It's getting very late.
Santa Claus (rubbing his eyes). Why, bless my soul! I must have been napping. And who are you, my dear?
Little Girl. I'm the little girl who wouldn't go to bed to-night, for I wanted to sit up to see Santa Claus. But I waited and waited, and you didn't come. Oh, Santa Claus, don't say that you're not coming at all. The children would be so disappointed.
Santa Claus. The children are happy. They are having sweet dreams. Ah! I know now what they're dreaming about. Lollipops and ice-cream cones. They're not thinking much about poor old Santa Claus.
Little Girl. Oh, but Santa Claus, we do think about you very often. We love you much more than we do the lollipops and the ice-cream cones, for they just melt away and don't last at all.