The Mother.

Aye, God bless them!

Both.

Hush!

[They put some gifts into the stockings, and lay the others in three piles on the hearthrug. The Lobs stealing forth, assist them, though without being discovered. This done, the Father and Mother give a parting glance toward the beds.]

The Mother.

The pretty dears!

The Father.

Of course our geese are swans!

Both.