The dinner lasted as long as did that of any of "swelldom's four hundred," for one cannot relate in a few moments the happenings of months, nor can so wonderful a gift as that of Katrina Baumgärtner be passed over with a few words.
When the tale of the puddings was ended Michael, with a merry twinkle in his eye, said to Norah:
"Norah, my jewel, be lookin' outside the door there, and see what you can be after findin'."
Eight little M'Cartys ran to the door. A scramble, a noisy return, and down on the table descended the thirteenth pudding.
At dusk Granny M'Carty and Grandad Rafferty sat in their accustomed places by the fire. Baby Ellen was fast asleep in Grandad's arms. The children were out for a run in the fresh air, and Bridget and Michael were enjoying a few moments of happy converse together in the lean-to.
Grandad rocked gently to and fro, nodding and smiling to himself as if his thoughts were very pleasant company. The sight of his cheerful face, dimly seen by the small lamp, was too much for Granny.
"It's meself," she began, "as can sit here with never a soul to be shpakin' to me, an' ev'ry one of me bones and nerves achin' with the excitemint of this day; an' it's ye, Misther Rafferty, that can sit there grinnin' and noddin' like a crazy loon. It's them that has a fine consait of themselves that gets along in this world, I mind. An' look at them puddin's,—"
"Puddin's? Puddin's?" said Grandad, rousing from his reverie and looking about as if he expected to see a second installment.
"Yes, puddin's!" mimicked Granny. "What's to be done with the leavin's of them thirteen puddin's, the unlucky things?"