"You have been stingy of the plums, Sam. They are scarcely within hail of each other."
"He should have told the cook to whistle while he was picking them," said Flora, laughing. "I gave out plenty for a large, rich pudding."
"I'll help the youngsters first," said Boreas, handing a large slice to James Hawke; "boys love duff."
The first mouthful was enough for poor Jim. He made a horrid face, and pushed back his plate.
"Hey! what's the matter with the lad?"
"Oh!" said Jim, hurrying from the table. "I shall never be able to eat plum-pudding again."
The pudding looked so clean and nice, that Flora was tempted to taste it. She no longer wondered at the boy's disgust. It was made with rancid fat, bad water, and boiled in the sea-brine. To a stomach unaccustomed to such dainties, it was unpalatable in the highest degree. Yet the Captain, Mate, and Pilot ate of it, and pronounced it excellent.
"I knew how it would be," said Flora; "and yet I am baby enough to be disappointed at the result."
"The child has quarrelled with its pudding," said Boreas, "and left more for us. It's an ill wind that blows no one any good."
"Pray don't call it my pudding, Captain. I disown it altogether. There is nothing English about it."