(Smiles at Curly Locks.)
Mother Goose. It’s just a foolish little song.
Old Woman. H’m! I’ve mistrusted her all along!
(Two of the boys seize her arms and unbutton her sleeves, while a third seizes her bag and opens it. The gombobbles roll out.)
All. Oranges! Oranges! We told you so!
Dingty. They’re not! They’re gombobbles!
Simon. They be! I know.
Dingty. They sing that silly song at me Till they really believe it! I found a tree Out here in the wood, that was rather queer, So I picked some fruit for you, Mother dear. I met the old man dressed all in leather, And we had a nice little chat together. He says they’re gombobbles, and make nice pie.
Children. Do make some, Mother!
Mother Goose. Pick them up, and I’ll try.