"It was Judy Connell," Ned answered, as he looked away into the shadows as if his gaze was fixed on a cinematograph picture that had suddenly appeared on the far wall of the forge, "an' I remember it the same as if 'twas only yesterday, though it's a good twenty-five years since it happened. In them times the only sort of a puddin' people had at Christmas was a bit o' rice an' a few currants in it, an' it was a bigger luxury than you'd imagine, because it's little o' sweets or dainties the old people bothered their heads about: an' signs on it there wasn't a fellow for pullin' teeth an' stuffin' teeth at every fair an' market, nor bottles by the score in every 'pothacary's shop window for the cure o' constipation an' twenty other 'ations' an' 'isms' that the people o' them days knew nothin' about. An' sure nearly every man brought a full set o' teeth to the grave with him an' left them there to be dug up when some other man was goin' down on top of him. Nowadays every second man you meet has teeth made out o' melted lead or somethin' tied on to his gums with wire, an' some people have plum puddin' for their tay every time a friend or relation comes to see them, an' they have to keep on the dresser a bottle o' somethin' or other to shift the plum puddin' out of their stomach the next day. That's how things has changed in this country since I was a gossoon.
"But I'm ramblin' away from Judy Connell's plum puddin'.
"Judy was as plain an' simple a little woman as ever went under a shawl, an' had no more airs or notions than any of her neighbours, an' it wasn't conceit or a wish to be better than the next that made her think o' makin' the puddin'. But the lady she was at service with before she married Mickey Connell, used to make her a present o' some little thing every Christmas, an' this year that I'm talkin' about didn't she take it into her head to send Judy a parcel o' raisins an' currants an' spices an' candy peel an' all the other queer things they mix up together, and wrote down all the rules an' regulations for makin' the things grab on to each other an' turn out a plum puddin'. Mickey wanted to give the things to the pigs instead o' goin' on with any foolishness, as he said, but the childre coaxed an' coaxed until they got the soft side o' the mother, as the like o' them will, an' she said that on account o' them that sent the things an' the times that were in it, she'd try her hand, come death or glory, at makin' the first plum puddin' that ever was smelt in Balnagore.
"So she read the directions over an' over an' up an' down until she had them off like a song an' used to be singing them out in her sleep, an' the childre thinkin' Christmas would never come, an' Mickey prayin' with the wrong end of his tongue for Judy's old mistress that didn't send the makin's of a flannel petticoat or somethin' sensible instead of all that rubbish that was only fit for the pigs' pot; an' mornin', noon, an' night Judy kept dinnin' into every one o' their ears that they mustn't talk about it to anybody or she'd be a standin' disgrace in the parish forever an' a day. An' the childre were only too glad to promise they wouldn't say anythin' about it, because they were afraid o' their lives anyone would get a taste o' the puddin' only themselves. It was five gossoons Judy had an' every one o' them as wild as a hare.
"Well, Christmas Eve came at last an' Judy was up before the sun thought of openin' his eyes, an' as soon as the breakfast was over she started in to make the plum puddin', and she had every one o' the childre helpin' her an' they grabbin' a raisin or a couple o' currants every time she turned her back, an', sure, before she had it finished an' in the big calico cloth she was after buyin' for it she was as white as a miller from head to foot with flour, an' she sweatin' like a damp wall, though the weather outside would nearly freeze a furnace. An' when she had it tied up an' all, she put it in a pot o' boilin' water over the fire, an' as she an' Mickey had to go into Castletown to buy the Christmas things, she left word with the lads to keep a good fire to the pot an' to put water into it now an' again from a kettle that she had beside the hearth. An' off she went along with Mickey, an' she thinkin' o' the nice, tasty puddin' she would put up on the table along with the bit o' Christmas meat the next day.
"It was all very well until the boyos got hungry, an' the smell from the puddin' bag began to make their teeth water, an' then they began to look at the puddin' to see was it near done, an' to take a little bit out of it here an' another little bit there, an' at last, they had such a hole in it that one o' them said the water would get into it, an' that it would be no good, an' he proposed that they put it away in their insides for safety an' say the dog stole it, or that it boiled away or somethin'. They all agreed with him, only the second youngest, Larry, who was the mother's pet, an' he wanted not to stir it until the mother came home, but the majority carried the day, an' made short work o' the puddin'. An' I'm afraid Larry lowered a lump of it, too.
"Judy an' Mickey were in Cassidy's big shop in Castletown, scrooged up among all their neighbours tryin' to get their few things an' be on the road home before night, when Judy thought she heard a voice she knew, an' when she looked round there was my brave Larry at the door an' he makin' signs like a showman tryin' to get her to look at him. An' as soon as her eye opened on the door—
"'Mother!' says he, in what he thought was a whisper, 'the lads ate the plum puddin'.'
"Judy was jammed up in the crowd that filled the shop, an' she couldn't stir hand or foot, but she began to threaten Larry with her head an' made all sorts o' faces at him to try an' make him keep his mouth shut an' not let out the secret, but Larry thought she wasn't believin' him or didn't hear him, or somethin', so the whisper went up another step or two:
"'Mother!' says he again, 'the lads took up the plum puddin' out o' the pot, an' they're after eatin' every bit of it!'