Marie [putting her arms indignantly around Jeannette]. No, she isn't at all. You're very unkind, Toinette.
Mother. Hush, children. Don't quarrel. [Shakes her head sadly and looks perplexed.]
[Enter Pierre and Marc, the latter with
knife and bits of wood. Marc sits down
against the fireplace, whittling. Pierre
lies at full length before the fire.
Jeannette. Will you tell us a story, Toinette?
Marie [gently]. Sh, dear, Toinette's busy, but I wish she would. She can tell such lovely fairy stories when she likes to. And this is Christmas Eve, Jeannette. Perhaps the fairies are out, looking for good children. Fairies are always helping St. Nicholas; Toinette says so. I wish she would get done sweeping.
Jeannette. When you get done, can't you tell just one story, Toinette?
Toinette. Oh, it's so hard to keep thinking up stories all the time. There now, Marc, you horrid boy, just see how you've scattered chips all over my clean floor. And, Pierre, your old shoes are just as dirty as they can be. What's the use of my sweeping, Mother, when the boys are so careless?
Mother. Try to remember to brush your shoes next time, Pierre. And, Marc, it's better not to bring the whittling into the house.
Toinette. I should think as much.
Pierre [getting up]. I'm sorry I forgot, Mother. Come along, Marc, we'll go out in the woodshed.