Mrs. Cricket. Never mind that now—Don’t be silly.
Mr. Cricket. Of course I’m silly. Guess what I’ve brought?
Mrs. Cricket. Curtains!
Mr. Cricket. No, something smaller—Where did I?
Mrs. Cricket. Quick, quick, let me see.
Oh, how sweet, Cricket ! Give it to me.
Mr. Cricket. (Sings)
When Dr. Stork had brought their child,
Their teeny-weeny laddy,
All day about the cradle smiled
His mumsy and his daddy:
And ‘Cricket, cricket, cricket,
You pretty little thing’—
Is now the song that all day long
They sing, sing, sing.
Mrs. Cricket. Lend it me, darling—Oh, daddy—I’m so pleased. Rattle it.
Mr. Cricket. Darling.
Mrs. Cricket. (Singing) Cricket, cricket, cricket!
Mr. Cricket. Now I must run round a little,—let people know I am here.
Mrs. Cricket. (Singing)
And ‘Cricket, cricket, cricket,
You pretty little thing . . .’
Mr. Cricket. I must get some introductions, fix up orders, have a look round. Give me the rattle, I’ll use it on my way.
Mrs. Cricket. And what about me? I want it.
Mr. Cricket. Very well, darling.
