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LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH
pudding was brought in, wreathed with real holly taken from our Christmas boxes, if any longings for mince-pie were felt they were bravely repressed. That pudding was good, if I do say it; and the guests spoke up quite boldly, declaring that “Mrs. Bob Cratchit” never achieved a greater success. I forgot to mention the gift of a fruit cake, which was added to our menu, and a more delicious one had never been transported by overland express. Of course we couldn’t have ice-cream in an iceless land, but we could and did have whipped cream and damson preserves, which everybody said “was enough sight better.” So, with a little bravado, our Christmas dinner passed off very well.
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