The Christmas Pudding
SCENE.–A poor, bare room in a lonely cottage. A round table; a shelf or dresser, with basins and platters; a couple of crocks and two or three stools or benches. Grandmother by fire knitting. Mother comes in, wiping her arms, taking off coarse apron, letting down skirt, etc.
Gr.: Them childher should be home, surely.
M.: They’re home this while, but I sent them to the cow-house to see could they find an egg. The lil brown hen is doin’ well this coul weather, and an egg at her nearly every day.
Gr.: You’ll be making some surt of Christmas Pudding for Jim and Maggie?
M.: Well, I don’t know, indeed, what am I goin’ to make it of! The flour is near done [looks into crook], an’ there’s barely a scrape of sugar for your tea. Scandalous the price they’re askin’ for it these days–an’ scarce adhrop of milk from the cow this fortnight. Still an’ for all we mus’ do what we can for them.
Sets a panmug on the table and looks into odd jars and screws of paper. Children come running in.
Ch.: There's not an egg in, Mammie, an’ no sign of the lil brown hen, either.
M. [with spoon uplifted]: Go along with your capers. She’ll be in among the others.
Jim: She’s not, though, for Maggie got in the hen-house to see.
M.: An’ jus’ look at the state Maggie is in! [Pulling off dirty pinafore and rubbing her down.] Fit to frighten the rooks, she is. Go your ways now an’ get washed or you’ll not get no pudding to-morrow.
Children rummage in corner, whispering, and produce a couple of stockings.
Jim: What’s goin’ in them this time, Mammie? I would like a hatchet. Maggie here wants a doll.
