‘The Lord love you, my dear,’ said Mrs. Duffy, when Kate went in, and delivered her message, ‘and the good doctor, too. It isn’t everybody as has such friends as me--on a Christmas Eve, too, when a body feels so lonesome wi’out friends. I don’t mind so much on working days, my dear, but one wants friends of a holiday like-Christmas. One can work wi’out friends; but one can’t love wi’out friends.’ ‘No, indeed!’ said Kate, with a profound sigh. ‘And I’ve got such good friends!’ continued Mrs. Duffy, triumphantly; ‘there’s one as gave me sixpence, and another threepence, and another twopence, only this morning. That came up to elevenpence; so I’ve bought my Christmas joint, just like other folks, you know. You’d maybe like to see my Christmas joint like other folks, shouldn’t you, my dear?’ ‘I should very much,’ answered Kate. The Christmas joint was evidently a very precious possession, for it had been laid carefully between a plate and a basin, and these were well tied up in a ragged cloth, and put out of the way of any marauding cat. Kate’s eyebrows went up a good deal, and her eyelids smarted a little as if with coming tears, when she saw it. It was a morsel of coarse beef, which would not have covered the old woman’s hand, but which she regarded with unconcealed satisfaction and delight. ‘That cost sevenpence,’ she said, ‘and I bought two pennyworth of greens, and a twopenny loaf to eat with it--me and a friend of mine, as is coming to dine with me. It’s a very poor lame girl as lives down the court; very poor, indeed, so I asked her to come and help to eat my Christmas joint, which is exceedingly pleasant to me. The neighbour next door has promised to lend me a chair; we’re all so friendly one with another.’ ‘Then if you have a visitor you must bring her with you to tea,’ said Kate, ‘and any children you have. Haven’t you got any sons or daughters? You’d enjoy yourself more with them there.’ ‘Bless your kind heart all the same,’ answered Mrs. Duffy, her cheerful face overcast for a moment; ‘I never had more than one bonny boy, and he went off to Australy nigh upon thirty years ago. My Johnny he was. Sometimes I think as I shall never see him again. I was thinking of him when your knock came to the door. He was going on for twenty; and I was a strong woman of forty then. I doubt whether Johnny ’ud know his poor old mother again if he did come back.’ ‘How long is it since you heard from him?’ enquired Kate.