Minerva—There, that will waken Pa and Ma.
Bobby—Oh, oh, oh, look at all them presents. Let me see what are mine (goes to tree and examines parcels).
Sam (drags him away)—Here, Bobby, no peekin’ ’til Pa and Ma come.
Enter Pa and Ma
Pa—Laws-a-me, children, what are you doin’ out of bed and—
Ma—And in your nighties, too. You’ll catch your death of cold.
Pa—Yes, and wakin’—well, I swan, what are you doin’ with a woodpile under the tree?
Ma—And a dishpan and book-bag and and—
All—They’re your Christmas presents!
Pa and Ma—Our Christmas presents!