MRS. HUBBARD.  They are just as real to me as if they were here in the house.  Ada, Bertram, Caroline, the high-spirited Dennis, pretty Elsie with the golden ringlets, dear little fair-haired Frank—­

MR. HUBBARD (firmly).  Darling one, Frank has curly brown hair.  It was an understood thing that you should choose the girls, and I should choose the boys.  When we decided to take—­A, B, C, D, E, F—­a sixth child, it was my turn for a boy, and I selected Frank.  He has curly brown hair and a fondness for animals.

MRS. HUBBARD.  I daresay you’re right, dear.  Of course it is a little confusing when you never see your children.

MR. HUBBARD.  Well, well, perhaps some day Father Christmas will give us some.

MRS. HUBBARD.  Why does he neglect us so, Henry?  We hang up our stockings every year, but he never seems to notice them.  Even a diamond necklace or a few oranges or a five-shilling postal order would be something.

MR. HUBBARD.  It is very strange.  Possibly the fact that the chimney has not been swept for some years may have something to do with it.  Or he may have forgotten our change of address.  I cannot help feeling that if he knew how we had been left to starve in this way he would be very much annoyed.

MRS. HUBBARD.  And clothes.  I have literally nothing but what I am standing up in—­I mean sitting down in.

MR. HUBBARD.  Nor I, my love.  But at least it will be written of us in the papers that the Hubbards perished in faultless evening dress.  We are a proud race, and if Father Christmas deliberately cuts us off in this way, let us go down proudly. . . .  Shall we go on reading or would you like to walk up and down the room?  Fortunately these simple pleasures are left to us.

MRS. HUBBARD.  I’ve finished this page.

MR. HUBBARD (tearing out one).  Have another, my love. (They read for a little while, until interrupted by a knock at the door.)

MRS. HUBBARD.  Some one at the door!  Who could it be?

MR. HUBBARD (getting up).  Just make the room look a little more homey, dear, in case it’s any one important.

(He goes out, leaving her to alter the position of the chairs slightly.)

MRS. HUBBARD.  Well?

MR. HUBBARD (coming in).  A letter. (He opens it.)

MRS. HUBBARD.  Quick!

MR. HUBBARD (whistling with surprise).  Father Christmas!  An invitation to Court! (Reading) “Father Christmas at Home, 25th December.  Jollifications, 11.59 P.M.”  My love, he has found us at last! (They embrace each other.)

MRS. HUBBARD.  Henry, how gratifying!

MR. HUBBARD.  Yes. (Sadly, after a pause) But we can’t go.

MRS. HUBBARD (sadly).  No, I have no clothes.

MR. HUBBARD.  Nor I.

MRS. HUBBARD.  How can I possibly go without a diamond necklace?  None of the Montmorency-Smythe women has ever been to Court without a diamond necklace.