e first speaker, doubtfully; "but how
do you know? Did you ever make one?"

"Why, I cannot say that exactly, but I have seen many made, and helped
to stir them."

"Lately?"

"Not so very, when I was a boy."

"It would be a sinful waste to put sperrits into a pudding," observed
Macintosh. "It would all boil away, and no one be a bit the better."

"No fear! Good liquor's too scarce for that," cried another.

"Brandy is a great improvement, when you have it, for all that,"
maintained Kavanagh.

But though this part of his recipe sounded to all like the dissolving of
Cleopatra's pearls in her drink for wilful waste, the other items of it
confirmed the previous opinion of the chief cook of the troop, and the
precious ingredients were entrusted to his care. When they were well
mixed, an unforeseen difficulty arose about a bag to boil it in; but
that was met by the sacrifice of a haversack, and at last it was
consigned to the gipsy kettle which was to bring it to perfection. If
it were literally true that a watched pot never boils, this would have
had a poor chance, for when off drill or duty next day every man ran to
have a look at it; but the proverb happily fell through, and it bubbled
away famously. Christmas-day dawned, and would have been hot in England
for July.

It is a curious experience the first Christmas spent away from home in a
warm climate, such a contrast to all early associations. There were
decorations of palm-branches, and instead of holly cactus, which
represented it well for prickliness. And there was church parade; and
afterwards came dinner of tinned roast beef, fish which some of the
persevering had caught in the Nile, and an ostrich _egg_, which a
friendly native had brought in, and which proved fresh. And the
pudding!

It was an anxious moment when the string was cut, and the remains of the
ancient haversack were opened, and every one was relieved when the
object of interest did _not_ fall to crumbs as some feared, but remained
firm and intact till cut. Was it good? Well, the proof of the pudding
is in the eating, and there was not a crumb or a plum left when the
party rose. Then a delightful afternoon of idleness and complete rest,
which took the ache out of many a poor fellow's bones, and talk of
friends in England, and reminiscences of home. And some lucky ones got
letters which succeeded in reaching them the right day, and got away
alone to read them; while others kept the