Mother. Right now, if you like. It’s morning, and it isn’t school time yet. But I’d like to ask one question. Is this to be the Christmas present you want more than anything? And are there to be no other gifts?
Child. Why, mamma, if I could be really the mamma, and not just pretend, and if it could be all the time, and not just one day, I wouldn’t want another single thing. I truly wouldn’t. But I think—I wish—I could have a few other things, little ones.
Mother. Very well, then. You are mamma now, and I am Mary.
Child. First thing, then, I’ll have chicken for lunch and cream puffs. (Goes toward the door.) And some of that raspberry jam—and—coffee. (Turns to Mother.) Yes, I’m going to have coffee. You can’t have any, Mary. It isn’t good for little girls. But I can have it. Mammas always do. (Turns to door again.)
Mother. Are you going to cook them, mamma?
Child. No; ’course not. Bridget’ll cook ’em. (Turns suddenly to Mother.) Oh, mamma! Will you tell Bridget to mind me? ’Cause she don’t know I’m mamma, you know.
Mother. Very well. I’ll do it now. (Goes out.)
Child. And hurry back, please, ’cause I want you to be Mary.
CURTAIN.
Scene II—Mother sewing. Child comes in dressed fancifully.