I bet you tasted it, exclaims Walter.

Indeed I did not, answers Gertrude in a hurt tone; not even the eentiest teentiest bit of it.

What time will the dinner begin, grandfather? asks Walter.

About twelve o’clock noon, I expect, grandfather answers.

And I suppose, says Walter in a sorrowful voice, that the pudding will be the last thing of all.

Yes, I suppose so, grandfather admits.

It will be an awfully long time to wait, says Walter.  And then when mother begins to help it, Gertrude and I will have to wait and wait while all the rest of you are helped.  It’s pretty tiresome waiting sometimes.

But have you forgotten, Walter?  Grandmother says, reminding him, You won’t have to wait as long as that tomorrow.  For tomorrow is Christmas, and don’t you remember, that one of the ways in which Christmas is different from all the other days in the year, is the way in which the food is helped out at the Christmas dinner?  On other days the oldest people are helped first, and the youngest ones have to wait:  but at Christmas dinner, the first one to be helped to each thing is the very youngest one of all, and then comes the next youngest, and so on all the way round, and the oldest one has to wait till the very last.

Oh, I remember, exclaims Gertrude.  That was the way we did last year.  Don’t you remember, Walter?  Walter nods.  And last year, Gertrude goes on, I was the youngest and I was helped first to every single thing.  Grandmother, who is the youngest this year?

Why, you are the youngest, answers grandmother, just as you were last Christmas.

But I’m a whole year older than I was then, says Gertrude, looking puzzled.

And so is everybody else, grandmother explains.

Really? says Gertrude, not quite convinced.  So I’m the youngest still?  Will I be helped first to the goose and the apple sauce?

Yes, answers grandmother.

And will she be helped first to the pudding, too? asks Walter anxiously.

Yes, answers grandmother.

Oh, I’m so glad, cries Gertrude.  Isn’t it nice to be the youngest?

Am I the next youngest? asks Walter.

Yes, grandmother answers, and the second helping of everything will go to you.

Oh, well, that’s all right, says Walter, a good deal relieved. 
There’s sure to be plenty left.  Gertrude couldn’t eat it all.

Now there is the sound of someone outside the door, stamping to shake the snow from his boots.

There’s Father, cries Gertrude.  She and Walter go to the door and open it.  Their father comes in, carrying several good-sized pieces fire-wood.

How late you are, James, says grandfather, and how tired you look.