“5 lb. suet, 4 lb. flour, 3 lb. bread-crumbs, 4½ lb. raisins, 3 lb. currants, 1½ lb. sugar, 1 lb. mixed peel, 1 pint old ale, 1 nutmeg, 6 teaspoonfuls salt, 2 quarts milk, 12 eggs; boiled 8 hours; a sufficient quantity for 9 puddings, 4 of which are large.” She could rehearse it by heart. Of course, in the small establishment at Jessamine Villa nine puddings—four of which were large—were not required. But the late Mrs. Gubbins had been a woman with a large family and a larger heart, and she had been accustomed to send puddings to her married sons and daughters. Mrs. Birdwood had halved everything, and then had been able to give a pudding to an aunt at Bandon, another she had sent to a married brother in London, a small one she had reserved for a poor old woman who received her charities, and the rest were for Jessamine Villa consumption. And now—— “Dear, dear, dear!” sighed Mrs. Birdwood, not observing anything in the arena. “I beg pardon—did you mean me?” asked a voice. She turned, and saw the commercial traveller beside her. “No, sir!” she retorted sharply. “I alluded to the pudding; with raisins at fivepence, and only nine eggs a shilling, it is dear, very dear, inexpressibly dear.” “I beg your pardon again; I don’t quite take it in.” “The pudding was not for your consumption, sir.” “You would confer on me, miss, a great favour if you would give me your name. A thousand apologies for asking.” “My name is—” She choked; should she give her married or her maiden name? “Never mind.” “And mine is Fisher. I am in the hosiery and haberdashery business. That is to say, I travel for a firm in that line. I am now staying at the ‘Woolpack.’” “At the ‘Woolpack’! So am I!” she cried in dismay. “This will never do—no, never!” She dashed out of the circus, went to the inn, removed her trifling effects, paid her bill, and departed to the “Red Lion.” Next morning she came down to the coffee-room, and was dismayed to find there Mr. Fisher. “Good gracious me!” she exclaimed, “I thought you were at the ‘Woolpack’?” “So I was; but as it seemed to offend you, and I could not think of annoying a lady, I went back when the performance was over, paid my account, and departed to another inn—the ‘Red Lion.’” “This will never do!” gasped Mrs. Birdwood. “I shall leave immediately!” She hastened to the station and took the train for Bandon; she would go to her aunt. The plum-pudding had preceded her; if she followed, it was but like a player of bowls, who delivers his ball and then runs after it. Her aunt was pleased to see her, and asked what occasioned this visit. Mrs. Birdwood made the excuse that she wished to see her before Christmas, and that she had friends in Bandon she also desired to see. She had not visited them since her—she gulped—her marriage. “I dare say, auntie, I may remain here a few days.”