Babs and Beeswax.
[Clapping hands with delight.] That’s it; just playmates: girls!
[Children of the Past, of many nationalities, peep forth from under beds, chairs, tables; from behind curtains, screens and doors, crying, “Here we are! Come, catch us, if you can!”]
Babs, Beeswax, and Dick.
[Running toward them.] O Children, come and play with us! [But the Children of the Past disappear whenever The Present-Day Children draw close to them. The latter exclaim, disappointed:] Oh, they’ve gone!
Third Lob.
Wait! Yonder comes one! [He points toward the screen from behind which emerges a fair little lad, about Dick’s age, in a blue smock and barefooted.]
The Present-Day Children.
[Delighted.] Oh, a little boy!
The Visitor.