Mrs. C. (Laying down her work. Mourning.) The colour hurts my eyes, and I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father. It must be near his time—he walks slower than he used, and yet I've known him walk, with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed—but he was very light to carry, and his father loved him, so that it was no trouble—no trouble——
Enter Bob, l. h. Mrs. C. advances to meet him—the Children crowd around him.
Bob. There, wife, I've returned at last. Come, you have been industrious in my absence—the things will be ready before Sunday.
Mrs. C. Sunday! You went to-day, then?
Bob. Yes, my dear! I wish you could have gone—it would have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you'll see it often—I promised him I would walk there of a Sunday—my little—little child—(With much emotion.)
Mrs. C. Don't fret!
Bob. Fret! I met Mr. Scrooge's nephew just now, who, seeing that I looked a little down, asked me what had happened. Ah, he's the pleasantest spoken gentleman you ever heard—he told me he was sorry for me and for my good wife—but how he knew that I don't know!
Mrs. C. Knew what?
Bob. Why, that you were a good wife! and he was so kind—it was quite delightful! He said he'd get Peter a better situation—and, mark me, whenever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim, shall we, or this first parting that was among us?
Omnes. Never! never! (The Children crowd around their Parents, who kiss them tenderly. A medium descends and hides the group.)