Miss D. I don’t want it, Gretchen. I don’t want it. Why do you bother me so? (Takes up book.) Can’t you see I’m reading? Go and have your old Christmas cakes, if you want them; but let me alone. (Reads.)
Gret. (backing toward the door and speaking timidly). Und you don’d gif nottings on Christmas? (No answer. She goes slowly out, turns at the door, and says.) Tomorrow vas Christmas. (No answer. Goes out slowly, putting one eye to the crack of the door and looking long at Miss D. before she softly closes it. Miss D. continues reading. Knock at the door.)
Miss D. Come in. (Annette enters, poorly dressed. Carries a large basket of laundry.) Oh, it’s you, Annette.
Annette. Please, Miss Dayton, here’s yer washin,’ an’ Maw says cud ye be afther payin’ her, ’cos termorrer’s Christmas.
Miss D. Certainly. Here’s your money. (Pays her.) But surely your mother won’t be so foolish as to spend her money on Christmas nonsense.
Annette (smiling). Aw yis, miss. We do be goin’ ter have Christmis to our house—an’ stockin’s hangin’ by the chimbly—an’ candy in ’em, an’ sich. An’ mebby sumpin’ nice—m—m! (Nods her head and smiles knowingly.)
Miss D. (sternly). Now, Annette, that is actually wrong. When a woman has to work as hard as your mother does to support seven children, it’s worse than folly. It’s wicked to buy Christmas presents. As to Santa Claus, there isn’t any such person, as of course you know. I really think I shall make it my business to see your mother myself, and see if I can’t stop such wasteful, useless doings.
Annette (with a wail). Aw Miss Dayton! Now, don’t yer be doin’ that! Not have Christmis? Aw! Yer don’ know what fun it be! Not have Christmas! Aw Miss Dayton! Let us be, can’t yer? (Hides her face in her apron and sobs.)
Miss D. Now, Annette, stop this at once. You are a very silly child, indeed. I’m quite surprised at you. Here’s your money, and when you get home you tell your mother she is not to spend it for Christmas nonsense. Do you hear? (Resumes her reading.)