| A Christmas Carol Play
Act Seven | 
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A Christmas Carol Play Act Seven
Written by: Walter Ben Hare
Adapted from the famous story of "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens ACT SEVEN Bright, cheerful music. Scrooge and Second Spirit cross to R. The rear curtains open,
showing the interior of the Cratchit kitchen. Everything neat, but showing extreme poverty.
Fireplace C. rear. Kettle boiling on crane. Table down L.C. with red cloth and lighted lamp.
Cupboard up R. Old chairs around stage. Several pots of bright flowers in evidence. A bird
in a cage is singing over the mantel. Peter discovered watching the potatoes boiling in the
kettle at the fireplace. Enter Mrs. Cratchit and Belinda from L.
Mrs. Cratchit. Hurry, Belinda; we must set the table right away. How's the taters, Peter?
Peter (peeks in the kettle). Boiling, mammy, boiling.
Mrs. Cratchit. Here, carry the lamp over there.
Belinda. Yes, ma'am. (Puts lamp on cupboard.)
Mrs. Cratchit. And now where's the white table cloth?
Belinda (getting it from cupboard). Here it is, mammy. (They place castor, plates, knives,
etc., on table during the following scene.)
Mrs. Cratchit. Whatever has got your precious father, I wonder? He and Tiny Tim's been at
the church these three hours.
Enter Bob and Betty from R. They run down and kiss Mrs. Cratchit.
Bob. Oh, mumsy, we saw the goose, we did. We peeked in through the bakery window and we saw
the goose, we did.
Betty. And we smelled him, too. And we went inside, we did. And the baker asked us what was
wantin'. And Bob said he wanted to know which goose was the Cratchit goose.
Bob. And he pointed to the very biggest one, mumsy. Didn't he, Betty?
Betty. And it was all nice and browny on top. And he said it 'ud be ready in 'bout twenty
minutes. Didn't he, Bob?
Bob. And it was the best looking goose I ever saw, it was. It just made me hungry to see him
and to smell him baking.
Betty. And it had sage and onion stuffing, mumsy, didn't it, Bob?
Mrs. Cratchit. I'm sure there never was such a goose before, and I'm sure there never will
be such a goose again. How's the 'taters, Peter?
Peter (looks in kettle). Boilin', mammy, boilin'.
Bob. Oh, Peter's got on pa's shirt collar, he has. Peter's got on pa's shirt collar.
Peter. If I didn't have to mind these 'taters, I'd show you!
Mrs. Cratchit. I can't think what's keeping your father, and your brother Tiny Tim. And
Martha wasn't as late last Christmas Day by half an hour.
Enter Martha from R.
Martha. Here's Martha, mumsy.
Bob (dragging her down to Mrs. Cratchit). Here's Martha, mumsy.
Betty. Oh, Martha, there's such a goose! Isn't there, Bob?
Mrs. Cratchit (hugging and kissing Martha). Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late
you are! (Takes off her bonnet and shawl.)
Martha. We'd a deal of work to finish up last night. I was on my feet all day. Oh, why won't
people learn to do their Christmas shopping early. If they'd only stop to give a moment's
thought to the poor clerks.
Mrs. Cratchit. There, there, my dear, sit ye down. Here's the big chair, Martha. (Bob has
been sitting in the big chair at R., but Mrs. Cratchit simply turns it forward, letting Bob
slip to the floor, and seats Martha therein.) Well, never mind, as long as you're home at
last, Martha. Draw your chair up to the fire and have a warm. God bless you. How's the
'taters, Pete?
Peter (looking in kettle). Boilin', mammy, boilin'.
Martha (sitting in front of the fire). Oh, mumsy, ain't this Heavenly? Be it ever so humble
there's no place like home.
Betty (at door R.). Father's coming, father's coming.
Bob. Hide yourself, Martha. Here, here. (Pulls her to L.)
Betty (helping her). Hurry up. Hide, hide! (Exit Martha at L.)
Bright music. Enter Cratchit carrying Tiny Tim on his shoulder. Tiny Tim carries a little
crutch.
Cratchit (down C.). Why, where's our Martha?
Mrs. Cratchit (down L.). Not coming.
Cratchit. Not coming? Not coming—on Christmas Day?
Martha (rushing in from L.). No, father, it's only a joke. Here I am, father, here I am.
(Rushes into his arms.)
Betty (taking Tiny Tim). Come on, Tiny Tim, out to the wash-house. We've got something to
show you, we have. Ain't we, Bob?
Bob. You bet we have, Tiny Tim. Come and hear the Christmas pudding singing in the wash
boiler. Come on! (Exit Bob, followed by Betty and Tiny Tim, at L.)
Mrs. Cratchit (taking Cratchit's hat and muffler and hanging them up). And how did Tiny Tim
behave in the church, father?
Cratchit. As good as gold and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so
much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. (Sits at L. surrounded by all.) He
told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a
cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who it was who
made lame beggars walk and blind men see. (Trembling voice.) Little Tim is growing stronger
and more hearty every day.
Enter Tiny Tim from L.
Tim. I heard the pudding singing a song in the wash boiler, I did.
Mrs. Cratchit. Everything is ready. Bob, you and Betty run across the street to the baker's
and fetch the goose.
Bob. Come on, Betty. (Runs out R. with Betty.)
Mrs. Cratchit. I've got the gravy to heat, right away. Peter, mash the potatoes. Belinda,
sweeten up the apple sauce! Martha, the hot plates! All bustle around, setting table.
Cratchit with Tim, on his knee, sit before the fire.)
Belinda. We haven't got enough chairs, mumsy.
Cratchit. This young shaver can sit on my knee.
Mrs. Cratchit. Peter, set up the chairs.
Enter Bob and Betty from R. bearing a roast goose in a baking pan.
Bob. Here it is, mumsy.
Betty. Here's the goose. (Mrs. Cratchit puts it on plate on table.)
Belinda. What a wonderful goose.
Martha. And how big it is! (All take seats.)
Bob. And don't it smell good!
Betty. Hurray for the Christmas goose.
Tim. Hurray! (Cratchit makes signal, all bend heads for a silent grace.)
Cratchit (after pronounced pause). And God bless Christmas Day.
Tim. God bless us all, every one. (Cratchit and Mrs. Cratchit serve the meal. All eat.)
Cratchit. I've got a situation in my eye for Master Peter.
Peter. A situation for me?
Cratchit. Yes, sir, for you. Full five-and-sixpence weekly.
All. Oh, Peter!
Bob. Peter will be a man of business, won't you, Peter?
Peter. What'll I do with all that money?
Cratchit. Invest it, invest it, my lad. It's a bewildering income.
Martha. Who do you think was in the shop yesterday? You'll never guess. A countess and a
real lord.
All. Martha!
Martha. A real, live lord, as fine as silk and just about as tall as Peter here.
Peter (pulls his collar up high and tosses his head). As big as me? (Waits outside sing two
verses of Christmas Carol, as before.)
Cratchit (goes to door). Here's a sixpence for you, and God bless you all.
Waits (outside). Thankee, sir. Merry Christmas, sir.
Belinda. And now the pudding.
Betty. Oh, suppose it should break in turning it out.
Martha. Or suppose it isn't done enough.
Bob. Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the backyard and stolen it while we
were in here eating the goose.
Mrs. Cratchit. Nonsense. I'll get the Christmas pudding. (Exits.)
Bob (very much excited). Oh, I can smell it, I can. I smell the pudding.
Enter Mrs. Cratchit bearing dish of pudding, decked with holly, and blazing.
Cratchit. Oh, it's a wonder, mother, it's a wonder.
Betty. It looks like a little speckled cannon-ball.
Bob. But just wait till you taste it; that's all. (It is served.)
Cratchit (rises). I have a toast. Mr. Scrooge! I'll give you Mr. Scrooge, the founder of the
feast.
Mrs. Cratchit (indignantly). The founder of the feast indeed! I wish I had him here. I'd
give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it.
Cratchit (remonstrating gently). My dear, the children! Christmas Day.
Mrs. Cratchit. He's an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man. You know he is, Robert. Nobody
knows it better than you do.
Cratchit (mildly). My dear, Christmas Day!
Mrs. Cratchit. Then I'll drink his health, for your sake and the Day's, not for his. Long
life to him! A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! He'll be very merry and happy, I've no
doubt.
Cratchit. And now a Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us.
All (rising). A very Merry Christmas.
Tim. And God bless us every one!
(The tableau curtains are slowly drawn.)
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