Hans. Are you sure it is the Christ-Child, Gretel?
Gretel. I don't know. But I think—I think if it was, His face would be all shining.
Mother. Where is your home, my son? And what is your name? Why were you wandering all alone this bitter night?
Friedel. I am Friedel. Just Friedel. Not anything else. And I haven't any home. I wish I had. A home is what I was looking for. I thought perhaps someone would take me in, and let me work to pay for keeping me. But nobody wants a boy, somehow, nobody. [Drops his head in his hands.]
Mother [stroking his head]. You shall never say that again, my son. While we have still our little hut, you shall live with us, and be an elder brother to my little ones.
Hans. You hear that, Gretel? It isn't the Christ-Child, after all. [Rubs his fists in his eyes.]
Gretel. Oh, but Hans, I believe the Christ-Child would like this almost as much. I mean He would like our putting the candle in the window, and making the toast and everything for this poor little boy, almost as much as if it was really for Him. Because it's His little boy, you know.
[The chimes begin.
Hans. Really and truly?
Gretel. Yes, I'm sure! Perhaps the Christ-Child sent him to us. Oh, Hans, listen! The chimes are beginning to ring. [Both run to the window to listen. After a moment voices in the distance begin singing "Oh, Happy Night."]