Phil. See here, Tom, don't be a donkey! Come along! [Takes him by the arm.]
Tom [shakes him off]. Get out!
Daisy. Well, I suppose we'll have to go without him. Papa is waiting. [They start.] Phil, what is the matter with Tom?
Phil. I don't know. Dot said he was cross——
[Exeunt.
Sarah. Ye'd betther remember what I was a-tellin' ye, Master Tom. Ye gettin' ready for the stick?
Tom. You be still and clear out, Sarah!
Sarah. Oh, I'm a-goin'—I'm a-goin'! Shall I tell Santa Claus to make it out of rattan, Master Tom?
Tom. Go on out, I say! [Chases her out.] Well, it's some fun to be cross to Sarah, but I really don't like to be cross to Dot and the others. Oh, dear! I wish I didn't have to. [Sees Sarah's dust-cloth, which he rolls into a wad and tucks into a cap lying on one of the chairs.] He-he! that'll fix her. Now she can't find it. [Enter Sarah. Tom sits down by the fire, holding his knee.] What do you want?
Sarah. Oh, my clearin'-up's not done yet! I declare, if I've redd up this room once, I've done it forty times this day. [Straightens things, then looks for her duster. Tom watches slyly.] Did I take that cloth downstairs wid me? Sure, I know I didn't. Where did I put it, then? 'Tain't here annywheres. Maybe that little squirrel hid it. Seen my duster, Tom?