It is Christmas eve and Jack and Mary have been married a year. Jack is preparing to go out. Mary is secretly disturbed over his going but hides it. "Mother" sits by the fire knitting. Mary is sewing by the window. _Jack._ Say, Mary! D'you know, I can shave myself better'n any barber thet ever honed a razor? _Mary._ I always told you you could, Jack, if you'd only try. _Jack._ Feel my face now--ain't it as smooth as any baby's? _Mary._ (_Feeling his face._) Yes, Jack, as smooth as any _old_ baby's. _Jack._ Oh! say, look here now, thet ain't fair; a feller don't know nothin' till he's forty, does he, mother? Old baby's! (_sitting on the arm of Mary's chair_) I ain't too old to love you, Mary, that's one thing. I've loved you ever since you was knee-high to a grasshopper. I rocked you in y'r cradle--I'm blessed if I didn't make the cradle you was rocked in, didn't I, mother? _Mother._ Yes, Jack, an' d'ye remember what yeh made it out of? _Jack._ A herrin' box. (_General laugh._) _Mary._ (_Tenderly._) I married the man I love, Jack. _Jack._ Honest? _Mary._ Honest. _Jack._ (_Kissing her._) Then what'n thunder you want to talk about a feller's gettin' old for? Where's my clean shirt? Say, mother, don't you t' hang up them stockin's. _Mary._ Oh! Jack, what nonsense. _Jack._ No nonsense at all about it. Christmas is Christmas. It only comes once a year an' I'm goin' to have th' stockin's hung up. So for fear you'd forgit 'em I'll hang 'em up myself. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _Mary._ Please, Jack, give me those stockings. _Jack._ Now it ain't no use, little woman. Them stockin's is a-goin' up. Mother, you give me three pins. _Mary._ Don't you give him _any_ pins, mother. Suppose the neighbors should come in and see those stockings hangin' up. _Jack._ Let 'em come in, I don't care a continental cuss. Why, Mary, everybody wears stockin's nowadays, everybody that can afford to. I _want_ the neighbors to see 'em, then they'll know we've got stockin's. (_Holding up the three stockings._) Got one apiece anyhow. _Mother._ Oh, Jack, Jack! you'll never be anything but a great overgrown boy, if you live to be a hundred (_goes off_). _Mary._ (_Tenderly._) Jack! _Jack._ Hey? _Mary._ (_Putting her arms about his neck._) Did you never think that perhaps next Christmas there might be another stocking, just a tiny one, to hang in the chimney corner? _Jack._ Why, Mary, there's tears in your eyes. (_Goes to wipe her eyes with the work she has in her hands; it is a baby's dress._) Bless my soul! What's this, Mary? _Mary._ (_Falteringly._) Do you remember Bella and John in "Our Mutual Friend" that I read to you? _Jack._ Yes. Warn't they glorious?