"What's in the oven, Jim? Perhaps you'll be tellin' us," said his mother gravely.
"My puddin'," answered little Jim, very red in the face.
At the word pudding the faces of Barney and Tommie and Larry, who had come in very hungry, lit up. But at the smell they clouded again. A pudding lost was worse than having no pudding to begin with. For to lose what is within reach of his spoon is hard indeed for any boy to bear.
"And what was it I told you to be cookin' for supper?" asked the widow when they had all sat down to steak and bread and butter, leaving the doors and windows wide open to let out the pudding smoke.
But little Jim did not reply and his downcast look was in such contrast to his erect hair, which no failure of puddings could down, that Pat and Mike burst out laughing. The remembrance of the raisins little Jim had so pompously asked for was upon them, too. And even Mrs. O'Callaghan smiled.
"Was it steak and potatoes I told you to be cookin'?" she persisted.
Little Jim nodded miserably.
"I'll not be hard on you, Jim," said his mother, "for I see you're ashamed of yourself, and you ought to be, too. But I'll say this to you; them that cooks puddin's when they're set to cook steak and potatoes is loike to make a smoke in the world, and do themsilves small credit. Let's have no more puddin's, Jim, till I give you the word."
That was all there was of it. But Jim had lost his appetite for pudding, and it was long before it returned to him.