is?"
replied Dora and the book together--"'and mix it with the breadcrumbs
and flour; add the currants washed and dried.'"

"Not starched, then," said Alice.

"'The citron and orange peel cut into thin slices'--I wonder what they
call thin? Matilda's thin bread-and-butter is quite different from what
I mean by it--'and the raisins stoned and divided.' How many heaps would
you divide them into?"

"Seven, I suppose," said Alice; "one for each person and one for the
pot--I mean pudding."

"'Mix it all well together with the grated nutmeg and ginger. Then stir
in nine eggs well beaten, and the brandy'--we'll leave that out, I
think--'and again mix it thoroughly together that every ingredient may
be moistened; put it into a buttered mould, tie over tightly, and boil
for six hours. Serve it ornamented with holly and brandy poured over
it.'"

"I should think holly and brandy poured over it would be simply
beastly," said Dicky.

"I expect the book knows. I daresay holly and water would do as well
though. 'This pudding may be made a month before'--it's no use reading
about that though, because we've only got four days to Christmas."

"It's no use reading about any of it," said Oswald, with thoughtful
repeatedness, "because we haven't got the things, and we haven't got the
coin to get them."

"We might get the tin somehow," said Dicky.

"There must be lots of kind people who would subscribe to a Christmas
pudding for poor children who hadn't any," Noel said.

"Well, I'm going skating at Penn's," said Oswald. "It's no use thinking
about puddings. We must put up with it plain."

So he went, and Dicky went with him.

When they returned to their home in the evening the fire had been
lighted again in the nursery, and the others were just having tea. We
toasted our bread-and-butter on the bare side, and it gets a little warm
among the butter. This is called French toast. "I like English better,
but it is more expensive," Alice said--

"Matilda is in a frightful rage about your putting those coals on the
kitchen fire, Oswald. She says we shan't have enough to last over
Christmas as it is. And Father gave her a talking to before he went
about them--asked her if she ate them, she says--but I don't believe he
did. Anyway, she's locked the coal-cellar door, and she's got the key in
her pocket. I don't see how we can boil the pudding."

"What pudding?" said Oswald dreamily. He was thinking of a chap he had
seen at Penn's