The Lobs.
[Looking down on them.] Well, on the floor! Untidy, lumpy things!
Some Visiting Children.
[Peering forth.] Good-bye! Until next Christmas Eve!
The Lobs.
[Chasing these with brooms.] Clear out!
Get back to history where you belong!
Dick.
[In his sleep.] I thought I heard voices ... visitors ... children ... Santa Claus.
The Lobs.