"Indeed she won't mind," said Ollie. "Come along. Will you come, sir? You've no idea, ma'am, how many things have to go in a pudding, a real English plum-pudding. We never saw one in France. Ruth wrote the list and went to the shops, but when she came home, she had forgotten both the suet and the nutmeg, and I had to run for them. Ruthie, here's Mrs. Cloudesley, she wants to see the fun,—I suppose she means the pudding; and Mr. Cloudesley came too."
May stood to look at the scene before her, with all the pleasure and sympathy she so truly felt, looking out of her sweet eyes. Standing before the fire with a cookery book in his hand, was Ralph Trulock; at the table, mixing the various ingredients in a basin, was Ruth, her hand in no state to be shaken. Her face was very grave. It was a great undertaking. Ralph, on the contrary, looked amused and happy. What a contrast to the man May had seen for the first time that day last year!
May helped to finish the mixing, and then to tie the pudding in a cloth; and it was well she was there, as otherwise the due flouring of the cloth would have been forgotten, and Ruth's pudding would not have presented the handsome appearance it did present the next day. May had brought Ollie some apples and Ruth a little book; but for Ralph she produced a bunch of Christmas Roses, saying:
"I hardly think you want these now, Mr. Trulock?"
"Truly, madam, they grow by my own fireside now; and for great part my thanks are due to you. You first told me how to grow them."
"I expect that's a parable," said Ollie, gravely. "Isn't it, Mr. Trulock?"
"It is, Ollie."
"And we are the flowers?" said the boy with a nod of his curly head.
"You! You are a weed, Master Ollie!" cried May laughing; "And an ill weed too. Don't you know the old saying that 'Ill weeds grow apace'?"
Mr. Cloudesley's sharp harpoon stuck fast, but the effect was not exactly what he wished!