Peter. What shall we do about it, sister?
Rosalia. Why, Peter, I'll tell them. They're all so kind, I don't think they will be cross.
Peter. Well, sister, I don't believe they will, either. And it's Christmas day, so I want to be sure to do what is right. And this is right—I am sure of that. Now I must run away; they'll be coming soon. [Exit Peter. Sound of Monks singing in the distance grows louder and louder. Enter Monks, Abbot leading, each bearing a tray full of toys for Rosalia. Half the Monks march to the right, half to the left of her chair. Monks hold out their presents to her.]
Rosalia. Please, I'm not a miracle. I'm only Peter's little sister!
Felix, Ambrose, and Sebastian. Peter!
Anselm, Hilarion, and Gregory. Peter's little sister!
Abbot. Peter? The Peter who works in our garden?
[Enter Peter, standing unnoticed by door.
Rosalia. Yes, Peter's little sister.