son, my son!

VIRGIN'S IMAGE. _My_ SON!

OLD MAN. [Groping his way toward the stairs.] My eyes! Hell-fire!
[He rushes down the steps.]

[Two rats, Nisse and Nilla, come on right, one behind the other.
They have mourning veils swathed about their tails.]

NISSE. I say, it smells like roast pig!

NILLA. Oh, I promise you! Be careful, Nisse! I see the trap over
there. [Sits on hind legs.] 'Twas in that very trap that our little
ones were lost! O dear, dear, dear!

NISSE. If we could only hit upon some trick to play on the bad old
man it would do my bowels good! Can you see if he has left anything
about which he values?

NILLA. Suppose we gnaw the ropes so the bells will tumble down on
his head--

NISSE. Why, Nilla! you know that I have only one poor tooth left in
my head.

NILLA. But I have two--and where there's a will there's--but you,
you have no feeling for your children!

NISSE. Come now! we shan't quarrel on Christmas Eve.