Contrary Mary:  “Mary, Mary, quite contrary,” they call me, Father Christmas.  I’m not contrary at all.  Don’t you believe it.  Only I don’t like to do just the same as other folks.  That’s the reason I’m not going to give you one of my silver bells or my pretty shells.  I’ll keep them myself for the present.  Perhaps when it’s Fourth of July, or some other time when nobody else is thinking about giving you anything, you’ll hear from Contrary Mary. (Flounces herself away to place.)

Mother Goose:  Fie, fie, my child!  Give your presents to Father Christmas as you should.  This contrariness grows upon you apace, and must be checked at once. (Mary obeys Mother Goose reluctantly, pouting and muttering to herself.)

Little Tommy Tucker:  I am only little Tommy Tucker who sings for his supper.  All I can give you is a song, Father Christmas.

  TOMMY TUCKER’S SONG.

  (Air:  “Ben Bolt.”)

  Oh, don’t you remember when children were old,
    And money grew up on the trees,
  How we lived upon nothing but cake and ice-cream. 
    And had none but our own selves to please? 
  We went to bed late every night of our lives,
    And we played every day all day long;
  And we never did sums, and could spell anyhow,
    And nobody said it was wrong!

  Oh, don’t you remember the naughty child grew,
    The good one was good all in vain,
  Till dear Father Christmas and Mother Goose, too,
    To children their duty made plain? 
  So now we can cipher and spell with a will,
    And at nine we are snug in our beds,
  With good Father Christmas in all of our dreams,
    And Mother Goose songs in our heads!

Father Christmas:  Bravo, Tom Tucker!  Be sure you shall have the supper for which you have sung so well.  Bless my eyes!  Who comes here?

Jack and Jill (together): We are Jack and Jill, Father Christmas.  And here’s a pail for you.  It is the one that we had when “Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after.” (Hands a pail.)

Simple Simon (drawling): Simple Simon, I am.  I met a pieman going to the fair.  Says Simple Simon to the pieman, “Let me taste your fare.”  Says the pieman to Simple Simon, “Show me first your penny.”  Says Simple Simon to the pieman, “Indeed, I have not any.”

Father Christmas:  So you did not get the pie?  My boy, let it be a lesson to you that in this world nobody can have something for nothing.

Polly Flinders (sobbing): I don’t look fit to come to a party, Father Christmas, for I burnt my best dress sitting among the cinders.  Please excuse me this time, and let me stay, though I have no gift.

Father Christmas:  Certainly, my dear, certainly.

Mother Goose (severely}: You are entirely too indulgent, Father Christmas!  Polly Flinders, who sat among the cinders, ought to have stayed at home. (Polly begins to cry.)