SCENE—­The Grounds.  A string of Sightseers discovered passing slowly in front of a row of glazed cases containing small mechanical figures, which are set in motion in the usual manner.

BEFORE A SCENE REPRESENTING A DYING CHILD.

A Gallant Swain.  That’s the kid in bed, yer see.  Like to see it die, POLLY, eh?  A penny does it.

Polly (with a giggle).  Well, if it ain’t too ’arrowing. (The penny is dropped in, and the mechanical mother is instantly agitated by the deepest maternal anxiety.) That’s the mother kneeling by the bed, I suppose—­she do pray natural.  There’s the child waking up—­see, it’s moving its ’ed. (The little doll raises itself in bed, and then falls back lifeless.) Ah, it’s gone—­look at the poor mother ‘idin’ her face.

The G.S. Well, it’s all over.  Come along and see something more cheerful.

Polly.  Wait a bit—­it isn’t ’alf over yet.  There’s a angel got to come and carry her away fust—­there, the door’s opening, that’ll be the angel come for it, I expect. (Disappointed.) No, it’s only the doctor. (A jerky and obviously incompetent little medical practitioner puts his head in at the door, and on being motioned back by the bereaved mother, retires with more delicacy than might have been expected.) Well, he might ha’ seen for himself if the child was dead! (The back of the bed disappears, disclosing a well-known picture of an angel flying upwards with a child.) I did think they’d have a real angel, and not only a picture of one, and anyone can see it’s a different child—­there’s the child in bed just the same.  I call that a take-in!

The G.S. I dunno what more you expect for a penny.

A Person on the Outskirts (eagerly to Friend).  What happened?  What is it?  I couldn’t make it out over all the people’s shoulders.

His Friend.  Dying child—­not half bad either.  You go and put in a penny, and you’ll see it well enough.

The P. on the O. (indignantly).  What, put in a penny for such rubbish?  Not me!

    [He hangs about till someone else provides the necessary
    coin.

A Softhearted Female.  No, I couldn’t stand there and look on.  I never can bear them pathetic subjects.  I felt just the same with that picture of the Sick Child at the Academy, you know. (Meditatively.) And you don’t have to put a penny in for that, either.

BEFORE ANOTHER BEDROOM SCENE REPRESENTING “THE DRUNKARD’S DELIRIUM.”

First Woman.  That’s ’im in bed, with the bottle in his ’and.  He likes to take his liquor comfortable, he do.

Second Woman.  He’s very neat and tidy, considering ain’t he?  I wonder what his delirium is like.  ’Ere, ROSY, come and put your penny in as the gentleman give yer. (ROSY, aged six, sacrifices her penny, under protest.) Now, you look—­you can’t think what pretty things you’ll see.