usband is out at
his lodge tonight. I can stay with you until the children return from
the entertainment, and maybe it's a bit of a Christmas Eve high-jinks
we can be having afterwards.

MRS. MULLIGAN. Indade, I'm glad to have ye, Kathleen. Will your
husband be long at lodge?

MRS. O'TOOLE (_cutting the elephant's ears from brown paper_). He will
that. Pat is the Grand Exalted Chafe Ruler of the Benevolent and
Obstreperous Order of United Wooden-men, and he won't be home till
marnin'.

MRS. MULLIGAN. Is he now? The late Mr. Mulligan was niver much of a
lodge joiner but that made no difference to him; he niver came home
till marnin', lodge or no lodge.

MRS. O'TOOLE. Remember, Mollie, you're coming over to dinner with us
tomorrow. It's at one o'clock.

MRS. MULLIGAN. Oh, Kathleen, I can't be laving the children at all, at
all. On Christmas Day, too.

MRS. O'TOOLE. Of course you can't. Ye're going to bring the children
over with ye.

MRS. MULLIGAN. The whole tin of them?

MRS. O'TOOLE (_counting on fingers_).

Patsy and Matsy,
And Teddy Magee,
Nora Eudora,
And Micky Machree,
Bridget Honora,
And sweet Mary Ann,
Melissa, Clarissa,
And wee Peter Pan.

MRS. MULLIGAN. And ye're willing for the whole bunch of us to come?

MRS. O'TOOLE. All but the goat. I draw the line at Shamus O'Brien. Ye
see it's this way. Me man, Pat, won a turkey in a raffle, and it's as
big as a billy-goat. Then on top of that me daughter Toozy, that's
married and lives in the country, sent us two chickens and a goose.
And there's only me and Pat to ate all that.

MRS. MULLIGAN. Kathleen O'Toole, it's a saint ye are.

MRS. O'TOOLE. I says to Pat, says I, "Christmas ain't Christmas at
all, at all, unless there's some children at the dinner." "What'll we
do?" says Pat. "Invite the Mulligans," says I. And Pat was tickled to
death. We've potatoes and squash and cabbage from me own garden, and
we've oyster dressing and cramberries and stewed corn and apple
fritters, and it's meself that has made eight mince pies, and four
punkin ones--and I think we'll be after having a dinner on Christmas
Day that would do credit to ould Saint Patrick himself.

MRS. MULLIGAN. Sure, ye almost make me cry for joy, Kathleen O'Toole,
and after the goat trated ye the way he did, too.

MRS. O'TOOLE. If a woman can't be neighborly and loving on Christmas
Day, Mollie Mulligan, sure I'm thinking she niver can be neighbor