Brownie brings in Christmas Tree, crying.
Tree: I won’t be trimmed. I won’t be trimmed. I don’t want things hung on me. I hate candles. I don’t want tinsel strung over my branches. Those silly toys will be stuck all over me. I won’t be a Christmas Tree, so there.
All the Toys: We’re not going away. Don’t worry. We don’t expect to be hung on any tree.
Santa: You poor little tree—stop crying. You and the Toys may stay with me till next year.
Tree and Toys: Oh, thank you, Santa. You are a dear.
Mrs. Santa: There, I knew he wouldn’t be firm. He spoils them all.
Tree and Toys retire to rear of stage and appear to talk together.
Enter Brownie.
Brownie: Oh, Santa, I have just received a terrible message on the wireless from a little settlement in Alaska.
Santa: What is it? What is it?