"MRS. M'CARTY LET THEM HUNT"
"Praise the blessid saints," said Grandad, "they didn't forget us this Christmas day, an' these are grand puddin's."
"Grand indade," replied Granny. "If Bridget M'Carty had said her prayers proper-like, it's other things besides puddin's she would have asked the saints for, but she's that foolish, she can't keep two words in her head to once. When she thinks puddin's, she just thinks puddin's, an' not aven the sauce, bedad."
"Annyhow, Granny, ye must say it was fine puddin's she did be thinkin'."
"Av course they're fine, but there's nothin' but puddin's, an' I have to ate them or be stharvin', I expect," and Granny helped herself to the third piece and passed her cup to Bridget to be filled the fourth time.
While the puddings were being eaten Mrs. M'Carty told the tale of the mysterious presents. So dramatic was her exposition of the twelve knocks that had been the precursors of the twelve puddings that when, as she finished, there came a loud and emphatic knock at the door, Grandad Rafferty, his mind on Bridget's story, ejaculated:
"Another puddin'!"
"'IT'S MY MICHAEL,—MY HEART OF THE WORLD'"