Tommy. She's sitting in mamma's lap; besides, she's a girl. Oh, papa [running to his father] I wish the Remsens would come! I want to play with Harry.
Mr. B. [hastily]. Never mind, never mind! The Remsens will not come.
May. Why wont the Remsens come?
Tommy. Oh, dear me, there isn't anything nice to do!
Mr. B. Tommy, stop your whining. Don't say another word. May, don't speak of the Remsens again. They are not coming, and that's an end of it.
[Enter LUCY.]
Lucy. What! tears on Christmas Eve, little May! And Tommy pouting! Oh, that'll never do! Come, cheer up! You'll have plenty of fun soon with Harry and Sadie.—It must be nearly time to send for the Remsens, father.
Mr. B. [vexed]. Don't speak of them again. They're not coming, and I don't want them. Why will every one keep talking about them?
[Enter PATRICK.]
Mrs. B. [aside to Lucy]. Mr. Remsen and your father have quarreled about a piece of land; so the Remsens are not to come this year.