MRS. CRATCHIT. There, there, my dear, sit ye down. Here's the big chair, Martha. (BOB _has been sitting in the big chair at R., but_ MRS. CRATCHIT _simply turns it forward, letting_ BOB _slip to the floor, and seats_ MARTHA _therein._) Well, never mind, as long as you're home at last, Martha. Draw your chair up to the fire and have a warm. God bless you. How's the 'taters, Pete? PETER (_looking in kettle_). Boilin', mammy, boilin'. MARTHA (_sitting in front of the fire_). Oh, mumsy, ain't this Heavenly? Be it ever so humble there's no place like home. BETTY (_at door R._). Father's coming, father's coming. BOB. Hide yourself, Martha. Here, here. (_Pulls her to L._) BETTY (_helping her_). Hurry up. Hide, hide! (_Exit_ MARTHA _at L._) _Bright music. Enter_ CRATCHIT _carrying_ TINY TIM _on his shoulder._ TINY TIM _carries a little crutch._ CRATCHIT (_down C._). Why, where's our Martha? MRS. CRATCHIT (_down L._). Not coming. CRATCHIT. Not coming? Not coming--on Christmas Day? MARTHA (_rushing in from L._). No, father, it's only a joke. Here I am, father, here I am. (_Rushes into his arms._) BETTY (_taking Tiny Tim_). Come on, Tiny Tim, out to the wash-house. We've got something to show you, we have. Ain't we, Bob? BOB. You bet we have, Tiny Tim. Come and hear the Christmas pudding singing in the wash boiler. Come on! (_Exit_ BOB, _followed by_ BETTY _and_ TINY TIM, _at L._) MRS. CRATCHIT (_taking Cratchit's hat and muffler and hanging them up_). And how did Tiny Tim behave in the church, father? CRATCHIT. As good as gold and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. (_Sits at L. surrounded by all._) He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who it was who made lame beggars walk and blind men see. (_Trembling voice._) Little Tim is growing stronger and more hearty every day. _Enter_ TINY TIM _from L._ TIM. I heard the pudding singing a song in the wash boiler, I did. MRS. CRATCHIT. Everything is ready. Bob, you and Betty run across the street to the baker's and fetch the goose. BOB. Come on, Betty. (_Runs out R. with_ BETTY.) MRS. CRATCHIT. I've got the gravy to heat, right away. Peter, mash the potatoes. Belinda, sweeten up the apple sauce! Martha, the hot plates! (_All bustle around, setting table._ CRATCHIT _with_ TIM, _on his knee, sit before the fire._) BELINDA. We haven't got enough chairs, mumsy. CRATCHIT. This young shaver can sit on my knee. MRS. CRATCHIT. Peter, set up the chairs. _Enter_ BOB _and_ BETTY _from R. bearing a roast goose in a baking pan._ BOB. Here it is, mumsy. BETTY. Here's the goose. (MRS. CRATCHIT _puts it on plate on table._) BELINDA. What a wonderful goose. MARTHA. And how big it is! (_All take seats._) BOB. And don't it smell good! BETTY. Hurray for the Christmas goose.