Mrs. Cratchit (indignantly). The founder of the feast indeed! I wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it.
Cratchit (remonstrating gently). My dear, the children! Christmas Day.
Mrs. Cratchit. He's an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man. You know he is, Robert. Nobody knows it better than you do.
Cratchit (mildly). My dear, Christmas Day!
Mrs. Cratchit. Then I'll drink his health, for your sake and the Day's, not for his. Long life to him! A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! He'll be very merry and happy, I've no doubt.
Cratchit. And now a Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us.
All (rising). A very Merry Christmas.
Tim. And God bless us every one!
(The tableau curtains are slowly drawn.)
Scrooge. Spirit, tell me if Tiny Tim will live.