Mary. An' what fer need they be wishin' there was tin of thim to mess the house up worse?
John. An' did they do that, thin?
Mary. Sure they did. "Mary," says Dicky to me, "don't you wish that I was five little b'ys and Dot was five little girls? We do, we're so lonesome."
John. An' that's what I heard them sayin' as I was a-carryin' up coal this morning. "I wish I had a whole room full of brothers and sisters," says Dick. Faix! I wish I could give him some of mine, then. I've enough to spare.
Mary. 'Tis sort of lonesome like, now, ain't it, John? [Hands on hips.]
John [hands on hips]. Yes, it is that. I wonder—— Say, Mary, me darlin', them three children of cook's sister's ain't going to have much Christmas. Why can't you and me smuggle them up here to the cupboard on the stairs, and when we comes up to help wid th' tree, we'll just give the word and they'll pop out and say, Merry Christmas. It'll be sort o' cheerful like, and Mistress is that kind-hearted she ain't going to care.
Mary. John, you have the brains of a elephant. I'll go right down and fetch 'em now. [Exit.]
John. Poor children! They shall have some fun, that they shall.
[Re-enter Mary with children.
Mary. Well, would you look at 'em, John? Cook she dressed 'em all up in green ribbons, bless their hearts. Says I, "Sure to-day's not St. Patrick's day." "Well," says she, "what's fittin' one holiday is fittin' the next. It's a good color anyhow. Them's their best clothes." So I never touched 'em. I've told 'em about it, John. Now, just go right up in here, children.