Grace had never been able to banish the disagreeable impression that she felt on first setting eyes on the big red-haired lumberjack, and that feeling now seemed to take hold of her more strongly than ever as Spike, shoulders slouched forward and eyes lowered, shuffled to the seat assigned to him.
"Sit down!" ordered Hippy, and all hands sat, Tom taking the seat at the lower end of the table.
There was real turkey, with cranberry sauce, squash, creamed onions, mashed potatoes, celery and a variety of other vegetables, brought from the city by Tom.

Willy Horse acted as waiter, Mrs.Shafto declining to unbend to the extent of waiting on "them varmints." "I'll fodder white folk, and I'll sling a bone to a bear or a bull pup, but no timber houn' of a lumberjack's goin' to git 'chuck' from the paws of Joe Shafto, and that's the end of the argefyin'," she declared, challenging the girls with a threatening glare through her big horn-rimmed spectacles.
There were only a few jacks present, outside of the "original" crowd, as Tom called them, all the others having a dinner of their own in the old bunk-house.
The "talk" at the table was mostly confined to the Overland Riders, their efforts to make conversation with their partners, the lumberjacks, eliciting little more than grunts.

The jacks were busy, very busy, and when the time came for dessert, every platter and every plate was empty.
"Pudding! Fetch on the pudding," cried Hippy.
There followed a few moments of waiting while the girls were clearing the table of used dishes, then Willy Horse was seen entering, bearing a huge platter, on the platter a great mound of blazing plum pudding.
The jacks gasped.
"Fire!" yelled a lumberjack.
Every jack in the room leaped to his feet and the next instant they were blowing great, long-drawn breaths at the blue flame that, as they thought, was consuming something that was good to eat.

With strong breaths, and vigorous slaps from ham-like hands, they soon put out the "fire," Willy Horse, in a rage, kicking out with his feet at every shin within reach.

The Overland Riders were convulsed with laughter, as the jacks solemnly filed back to their seats at the table.
"That's plum pudding, you poor fish!" groaned Hippy.
"Ain't nothin' now," grumbled Spike.