Santa. What?
Child 4. A Christmas tree!
All Children. Oh, my! Good gracious! Wouldn't that be grand?
O. W. Too grand, my chicks, for you to understand.
Why, such a tree within our old shoe spread,
Would from their fastenings tear out every thread;
Make every peg to start from out its socket,
And send the buckle flying like a rocket.
Santa. Good, good! there's fun beneath that wrinkled phiz.
At playing Santa Claus, let's make a biz.