sterday? You'll never
guess. A countess and a real lord.

ALL. Martha!

MARTHA. A real, live lord, as fine as silk and just about as tall as
Peter here.

PETER (_pulls his collar up high and tosses his head_). As big as me?
(WAITS _outside sing two verses of Christmas Carol, as before._)

CRATCHIT (_goes to door_). Here's a sixpence for you, and God bless
you all.

WAITS (_outside_). Thankee, sir. Merry Christmas, sir.

BELINDA. And now the pudding.

BETTY. Oh, suppose it should break in turning it out.

MARTHA. Or suppose it isn't done enough.

BOB. Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the backyard
and stolen it while we were in here eating the goose.

MRS. CRATCHIT. Nonsense. I'll get the Christmas pudding. (_Exits._)

BOB (_very much excited_). Oh, I can smell it, I can. I smell the
pudding.

_Enter_ MRS. CRATCHIT _bearing dish of pudding, decked with holly, and
blazing._

CRATCHIT. Oh, it's a wonder, mother, it's a wonder.

BETTY. It looks like a little speckled cannon-ball.

BOB. But just wait till you taste it; that's all. (_It is served._)

CRATCHIT (_rises_). I have a toast. Mr. Scrooge! I'll give you Mr.
Scrooge, the founder of the feast.

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.

SECOND SPIRIT. I see a vacant seat in the poor chimney-corner, and a
little crutch without an owner. If these shadows remained unaltered by
the future, the child will die.

SCROOGE. No, no, kind Spirit! Say he will be spared.

SECOND SPIRIT. If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease
the surplus population. Your very words, Scrooge. Decrease the surplus
population. (SCROOGE _ha