Mart. Here's Martha, mother!
Children. Here's Martha, mother—hurrah! There's such a goose, Martha!
Mrs. C. (Kissing Martha, and assisting her off with her bonnet, etc.) Why bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!
Mart. We'd a deal of work to finish up last night, and had to clear away this morning, mother.
Mrs. C. Well, never mind, so long as you are come. Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm. Lord bless ye!
Children. (Looking off.) Father's coming! Hide, Martha, hide! (Martha runs behind closet door in f. Bob Cratchit enters with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, l. h.)
Bob. (Looking round.) Why, where's our Martha?
Mrs. C. Not coming.
Bob. Not coming upon Christmas Day!
Martha. (Running towards him.) Yes, dear father, yes. (They embrace.)