“Um-m-m! Plum duff!” echoed David.
Indian Jake ripped the bag its length, and with a dexterous movement lifted it, leaving the pudding naked, and disclosed in all its glory, announcing as he did so:
“Cranberry puddin’!”
Then he cut it into three big portions, and covering each with molasses, in lieu of sauce, passed one to each of the boys.
“There ’tis,” he said. “Go to un, and see how you like un!”
Like it! They were both quite sure they had never eaten such a pudding in all their life. Andy declared it “A wonderful lot better than plum duff!” It was a fit crown for the dinner.
Indian Jake explained that he had picked the berries one day when they were making a portage along the Nascaupee River. He had put them in the tea pail which he used on his trail, and there he found them when he opened the pail at his first tilt. They were frozen, and he stowed them away with other things under his bunk, and quite forgot them until he heard Andy wishing for plum duff on the day they killed the caribou.
“Then I makes up my mind if you wants plum duff so bad, we’ll use t’ berries and have some,” he concluded.
“You’ve been thinkin’ up a wonderful lot o’ surprises for us,” said Andy appreciatively.
The wind continued to howl and the snow to drift outside, but it troubled them not in the least. They were as snug and warm and satisfied as ever mortals can be. They were as happy, too—only David and Andy complained that they had eaten too much. But that is characteristic of boys the world over, on such occasions. And as for Indian Jake, he had reason to be the happiest of the three, for there is no happiness so complete as that which comes from giving others pleasure.