Mr. Cricket. No, something smaller—Where did I——?
Mrs. Cricket. Quick, quick, let me see.
[Mr. Cricket takes out a rattle.
Oh, how sweet, Cricket! Give it to me.
Mr. Cricket. (Sings) When Dr. Stork had brought their child, Their teeny-weeny laddy, All day about the cradle smiled His mumsy and his daddy: And ‘Cricket, cricket, cricket, You pretty little thing’— Is now the song that all day long They sing, sing, sing.
Mrs. Cricket. Lend it me, darling—Oh, daddy—I’m so pleased. Rattle it.
Mr. Cricket. Darling.
Mrs. Cricket. (Singing) Cricket, cricket, cricket!
Mr. Cricket. Now I must run round a little,—let people know I am here.
Mrs. Cricket. (Singing) And ‘Cricket, cricket, cricket, You pretty little thing ...’