“Ah! Coucou Peter! I expected you! You never forget to come in time for the puddings.”
“Forget! No, no, Dame Catherina, I’m incapable of such ingratitude. They’ve done me too much good for me ever to forget them.”
Then, advancing with a grave air, he took from her hand the large ladle, plunged it into the tub, and for some seconds examined the mixture with a truly psychological attention.
Dame Catherina crossed her red arms, and appeared to await his judgment; at the end of a minute he raised his head, and said—
“With all due respect to you, Dame Catherina, a little more milk is wanted here; the milk should never be stinted—it gives the delicacy; it is, as one may say, the soul of the pudding.”
“That’s just what I’ve been saying,” cried Mother Windling; “didn’t I say to you, Soffayel, that a little more milk would do no harm?”
“Yes, Dame Catherina, you said that.”
“Well, now I’m altogether sure of it. Run and fetch the milk-jug. How many ladlesful do you think, Coucou Peter?”
The fiddler again examined the mixture, and replied—