Oswald. Christmas things for Halla to bake.
Sigurd. Then they will be brown and we can eat them just like the round cookies. See, Mother.
Oswald. Only these aren’t round cookies, Mother. (Sits down on the floor with the dough.)
Sigurd. No. There is a Christmas tree.
Oswald. And I made a star.
Sigurd. And I’m going to make—— (Runs and whispers to his mother.)
Olga. A what, dear?
Oswald. (Looking up from the floor) A little Christ-Child we’re going to make.
Sigurd. A little bit of a baby Christ-Child.
Olga. (Kissing his forehead) That will be a lovely Christmas task.