UNCLE NOAH'S CHRISTMAS INSPIRATION

By

Leona Dalrymple

Author of "Diane of the Green Van," "In the Heart of the Christmas Pines,"
"Uncle Noah's Christmas Party," etc.

Illustrations by

Charles L. Wrenn



Decorations by

Charles Guischard

New York

McBride, Nast " Company

Third Printing

1914

To C. A. W.

in grateful recognition
of an unfailing source of encouragement
and impartial criticism

Contents

The Illustrations

I
Christmas Cheer

Uncle Noah's Christmas Inspiration

I

The twilight of a Christmas Eve, gray with the portent of coming snow, crept slowly over the old plantation of Brierwood, softening the outlines of a decrepit house still rearing its roof in massive dignity and a tumbledown barn flanked by barren fields. A quiet melancholy hovered about the old house as if it brooded over a host of bygone Yuletides alive with the shouts of merry negroes and the jingle of visiting sleighs--Yuletides when the snowy dusk had been ushered in to the lowing of cattle and the neighing of horses safely housed in the old barn. There were no negroes now, no blooded stock--no fluttering fowls save one belligerent old turkey gobbler fleeing from a white-haired darky who tried in vain to drive him to his roost in the barn.

In the library of the old house a man, tall and eagle-eyed, peered out beneath bushy white eyebrows at the fading landscape blurred by the dancing forms of the negro and the recalcitrant turkey. He watched the chase end with an impertinent gobble from the turkey, and, at the sound of a closing door in the rear of the house, tapped a bell at his side. Footsteps shuffled along the hallway, and, breathless from his chase, the old negro entered.

Colonel Fairfax wheeled with military precision. "Uncle Noah," he said sternly, "to-morrow will be Christmas."

The darky nodded and hobbled hurriedly to the wood fire, bending over as he poked it to hide the look of anxiety in his face. "Laws-a-massy, Massa Fairfax," he grumbled in good-natured evasion, "yoh'd mos' freeze to deaf, I reckons, 'thout sendin' foh me"--he coughed, and amended hastily: "'thout sendin' foh one ob de servants to pile up dis yere fire."

The amendment was but one of Uncle Noah's many subterfuges to convince himself and his master that there had been no changes in the Fairfax fortunes since the old days. That he was the last of the Colonel's retainers, a wageless, loyal old dependent attending to the manifold tasks of a sole domestic, the negro never admitted even to himself. That his quaint pretensions, however, were daily stimulants to the fierce old Colonel hungrily eating his heart out with memories Uncle Noah was well aware. So the pitiful little subterfuges, revealing the subtle understanding of the two, peopled the old house with swarming negroes and the horn of plenty to the joy of both.

But to-day Uncle Noah felt uneasily that the reference to the servants had not bolstered the Colonel as it usually did, and the old darky groaned inwardly as he added wood to the fire. From the corner of his eye he saw that the Colonel had drawn himself up to military rigidity, an evidence that the old soldier was on his mettle and would brook no opposition.

"Uncle Noah," he said, fixing a stern eye on the old man, "in the Fairfax family there has always been a turkey at Christmas."

There was no suggestion in the darky's affable tones of the erratic manner in which his heart was beating. "Yes, sah," he agreed, "ofttimes mo' than one."

"Owing to circumstances understood by you and myself, but by ho one else, there would be no turkey this year save that--"

"Y-e-e-s, sah?" Uncle Noah laid a wrinkled brown hand upon the nearest chair for support.

"We have a live turkey in stock," ended the Colonel firmly, looking squarely into the trembling negro's eyes.

Uncle Noah's heart gave a convulsive leap. The thunderbolt had fallen! The fierce old turkey gobbler, solitary tenant of the crazy outbuildings, the imperial tyrant upon whom Uncle Noah had bestowed the affection of his loyal old heart, had been sentenced to death by the highest earthly tribunal the old negro recognized.

"I'se--I'se afeard he'll be tough, Colonel Fairfax," he quavered. "I--I--Gord-a-massy, Massa Dick, yoh wouldn't kill ol' Job? He's too smart foh a bird an' he's done a most powahful sight o' runnin', sah; I reckons he's mos' all muscle."

There was an agonized appeal in the darky's voice that cut straight to the Colonel's heart. "Uncle Noah," he said kindly, "it can't be helped. Job goes for the sake of--someone else."

"Ol' Missus?"

"Yes. Thank God, Uncle Noah," the Colonel laid a gentle hand on the negro's shoulder, "that she doesn't know of our--er--financial crisis"--his halting utterance showed how distasteful the words were to him--"save, of course, that we must live with economy, as we have for years. Of the catastrophe of last fall she is ignorant, and a Fairfax Christmas without a turkey would--she must not know," he finished abruptly.

The Colonel had spoken with a simple dignity and confidence that brought the old negro back from the field of sentiment to the barren desert of reality. Dimly in his mental chaos stood forth three pitiless facts: "Ol' Missus" was grieving her heart out for the son with whom the Colonel had quarreled three years before; of this money trouble from which Colonel Fairfax had shielded her she must as yet know nothing; and there was no turkey for the Christmas dinner. Verily things looked dark for the ill-fated Job, roosting in unsuspecting security in the desolate old barn. With bowed head the darky walked slowly toward the door.

"Uncle Noah," the Colonel's tones were incisive, "you will kill Job tonight."

"I mos' forgot, Massa Dick," faltered Uncle Noah, "dat supper's ready, sah. Ol' Missus done come downstairs jus' foh I chases Job to roost. Laws-a-massy, Massa Dick, can't he live till after supper?"

The Colonel nodded, carefully avoiding the old man's troubled eyes, and went to join his wife at supper.

"Christmas Eve, my dear," he announced cheerfully as he bent to kiss the sweet, wistful face that turned to greet him. "I beg your pardon for keeping you waiting. Uncle Noah and I were discussing to-morrow's turkey;" he gazed calmly at the old negro nervously handling the tea things; "he has selected a large bird and I have been advising a smaller."

The Colonel opened his napkin and deftly tucked the hole in the end out of sight beneath the table. "Now, Uncle Noah, what is there to-night for supper?"

To Uncle Noah this nightly question had become a sacred institution, a stimulus to imaginative powers highly developed in his quaint dialogues with the Colonel. He forgot the doomed Job. It was Christmas Eve, and his creative gift took festive wings.

"Well, sah," he beamed, "we has a little chicken gumbo, some fried chicken jus' the right golden brown, sah, creamed potatoes, hot biscuits with currant jelly--er--sliced ham and baked potatoes."

Colonel Fairfax thoughtfully considered the appetizing prospect in accordance with the rules of the game. What mattered it that the luscious edibles existed only in the brain of the loyal old darky? The little pretense gave to each a delightful thrill--surely an adequate extenuation of the harmless diversion. As usual Colonel Fairfax found the key to the situation in the closing items of Uncle Noah's list.

"It all sounds delicious, Uncle Noah," he observed graciously, "but I have a touch of my old enemy the dyspepsia today. I think I shall have sliced ham and baked potatoes. That, I think, will do for us both."

Mrs. Fairfax agreed, her kindly eyes fixed upon Uncle Noah's attentive face.

"And, sah," Uncle Noah began--it was Christmas Eve and this game must be perfectly played--"shall I attend to de distribution of gifts in de negroes' quarters, sah?"

"Yes," agreed the Colonel, "see that no one is slighted!"

Mrs. Fairfax bowed her wistful face upon her hands to hide the blinding tears, and an odd, uncomfortable silence fell upon the little group.

At length the Colonel pushed his chair back and rose. "Uncle Noah," he said sternly, a suspicious brightness gleaming in his eyes, "that turkey of yours is making a terrible noise under the window. Make him quit gobbling. Patricia, I don't wonder he makes you nervous. He's an old renegade!"

That the object of the Colonel's wrath had long since retired to roost mattered not to his accuser. The turkey had developed a convenient habit of gobbling under the window whenever emotion forced the Colonel to seek a vent in stern commands. Uncle Noah crossed to the window and commanded Job to be silent. Mrs. Fairfax, southern gentlewoman and thoroughbred from tip to toe, quivered proudly, and, as Uncle Noah returned, bade him serve the supper in tones as well controlled as they were gentle.

II
The Inspiration

II

In the great barren kitchen Uncle Noah wiped his steel-rimmed spectacles and glared angrily about him.

"Ol' Missus grievin' her heart out foh young Massa Dick," he reflected, "and de Colonel say 'slight no one!' Gord-a-massy, whut am dis yere ol' worl' a-comin' to? Ebery time ol' Mis' cry for young Massa Dick, Colonel say Job gobbles--"

The old darky choked miserably at the thought of the destined check to Job's gobbling career and, replacing his spectacles, carefully carried in the supper, prolonging its simple service to the uttermost, with the single idea of adding precious minutes to the doomed turkey's span of life.

When at length he sought the barn it was quite dark and the velvet stillness of the night was dotted thickly with snowflakes. With trembling fingers he opened the great barn-door, lit a queer old lantern hanging just within, and hung it high upon a projecting hook. The dim light revealed an antique carriage-house, in one corner of which upon a rude, improvised roost of shingles the tyrant Job slept the sleep of the just and the unjust rolled into one. As the lights flickered upon his ruffled feathers the turkey emitted a throaty grunt of disapproval and moved cumbrously around to avoid the light.

Uncle Noah addressed him with great firmness. "Now see yere, Massa Job," he said, "tain't no use yoh puttin' on yoh high and mighty airs to-night. I'se come to interview yoh, sah! Understand?"

Job majestically tucked his head beneath his wing as if to intimate his indifference to the proposed interview.

Uncle Noah surveyed his ruffled back feathers with increased respect. "So," he said, "yoh refuse me an interview, Massa Job Fairfax. Yoh is sleepy, sah, dat's whut's got into yoh." He stroked the turkey with a gentle hand, and, Job, resenting the indignity, withdrew his head from the sheltering wing and pecked at the brown fingers, turning around with a stately movement and facing the light once more with a sleepy blink of his bright, beadlike eyes.

"Now, sah, we can talk," exclaimed the negro in delight. Drawing up an old box he seated himself before the roost and beamed benevolently over his glasses.

"Colonel done say yoh gobble under de winder 'bout suppertime," he began confidentially. "When ol' Mis' cry 'bout young Massa Dick de Colonel he jus' gotta scold 'bout sumthin', and as yoh is de mos' important person about he jus' naturally selects yoh."

The turkey held his head upon one side, apparently in critical admiration of the darky's quaint old scarfpin which resembled a grain of corn mounted on a needle.

Uncle Noah, who had always had a faint mistrust of Job's attitude toward this ancient Ethiopian heirloom, promptly removed it to a place of safety. Then with a sudden resolve that no thought of the coming tragedy should mar his last visit with his old companion he rose and sought a dim, cobwebby corner of the barn, whence he returned with a box.

"Dese yere, Job," he explained, "is de flowers whut young Massa Dick have sent to his mother ebery holiday since he done went away from yere. Mornin', I specs, when de Colonel sees 'em at her plate, he'll declare yoh gobblin' sumthin' fierce under de winder again; he always do."

The old negro broke the string of the box and removed a glowing mass of purple orchids--odd, transient tenants of the crazy old barn. Job suddenly reached over and pecked a blossom from its stem, ate the heart with the dainty air of an epicure, and discarded the remainder with a noise akin to a gobble of disgust.

Uncle Noah rose in scandalized protest. "Yoh good-foh-nothin', miserable, sassy turkey!" he scolded, hastily removing the orchids; "you sartinly is de mos' scan'lous, no-'count bird I ever knowed. Eat one o' ol' Missus's orchards! Laws-a-massy, Job, yoh goes mos' too far. Now, sah, yoh be quiet and listen to dis note I gets from young Massa Dick," and he carefully deciphered the written lines for the listening Job.

Dear Uncle Noah: I have written Foster and Company as usual to send Mother's orchids. They should get there Christmas Eve. Will you put them at her plate in the morning? I find they are the only suggestion of me that the Colonel will allow in the house. I tried another letter this week, but it came back unopened. Uncle Noah, give Mother "A Merry Christmas" for me. DICK.

Uncle Noah laid the letter on his knee and drew from a worn leather wallet several newspaper clippings. They were glowing reports, gleaned from a stray newspaper, of the success of a young architect in a distant northern city, one Richard Fairfax, Jr. Uncle Noah proudly read them aloud for the hundredth time, interpolating little explanatory remarks to the turkey, who gobbled threateningly but failed to intimidate his tormentor.

"Job, whut yoh think 'bout dis yere quarrel?" Uncle Noah said as the turkey eyed him sternly. "I say de Colonel's too hard on de boy. A quarrel's a quarrel, yoh say. H'm, maybe yoh right, but it's dis Fairfax pride ob de Colonel's dat keep him from readin' de boy's letters, and nothin' else, sah. He sorry for dat quarrel, doan you fo'get it. But de Colonel he prouder'n Lucifer. H'm, yoh say yoh understan' pride cause yoh is proud yohself." Then as the turkey relapsed into slumber, "Now, see yere, Massa Job, yoh ain't no mo' sleepier'n I is." Uncle Noah poked the turkey with his finger, and Job arched his neck with a threatening flap of his wings and descended from his perch. "Fight me, will yoh?" demanded Uncle Noah in secret delight, "yoh is de touchiest bird! Yere, fight wid dese yere crusts o' bread."

Job spread his tail magnificently and began an erratic consumption of the bread crusts, pertly taking them one by one from the old negro's hand and arranging them upon the barn floor for later and more personal inspection. Uncle Noah watched him with misty eyes. Presently his gaze furtively sought the rusty ax in the corner, and great tear rolled down his cheek. Caught in the wave of a sudden panic he dropped upon his knees and clasped his trembling hands. The dusky barn, littered with odds and ends, was dimly visible in the glimmering light of the old-fashioned lantern whose slanting rays fell upon the doomed bird and the praying negro. No thought of sacrilege marred the quaint, halting prayer. A terrible earnestness lined the negro's face with a holiness of purpose and made it beautiful.

"Oh, Lord," he prayed, "save dis yere ol' turkey gobbler. I knows, Lord, he's a powahful wuthless bird, but he's all I'se got. I'se jus' an' ol' slave, Massa, what's been free since de War, an' Job, sah, he understan's me. Lord, I doan wanta live no mo' if I has to kill ol' Job. Send me an inspiration, Lord, an' tell me how I can save his wuthless ol' hide. Save him an'--an' God bless de Colonel! Amen."

For an interval, in which the only sound was that of Job's feet as he strutted about seeking an edible successor to the bread, Uncle Noah remained upon his knees in the attitude of prayer, perhaps awaiting inspiration. At length he rose, and, seating himself upon the box once more, buried his white head dejectedly in his hands. The snow-flakes filtered slowly through a crevice at the side, heaping fantastically into a miniature drift. Absently Uncle Noah watched them, his mind traveling back to many a snowy Christmas "before the War."

Suddenly his brown face glowed with radiance and he drew a long breath of relief. "Job," he said, leaning forward and patting the turkey, "I has it! Yoh'd scarcely believe it, sah, but I'se a-goin' to save yoh."

He arose transformed, the despondent droop of his lean body replaced by an alert energy. "Now, Job," he coaxed, "I jus' wants yoh foh to come along wif me peaceable, sah. I'se after yoh to save yoh ol' hide from de Christmas platter."

But Job, with a malicious enjoyment of the game, was prancing wildly about the barn, flapping his wings in hysterical derision of his breathless pursuer. Brought to bay he squawked a protest and struggled violently as Uncle Noah unceremoniously imprisoned him beneath one arm.

"There, sah," exclaimed the negro triumphantly, "I has yoh! Yoh is sartinly the mos' wuthless turkey on dis yere plantation."

Tightly clasping the outraged tyrant Uncle Noah tiptoed to the lantern and blew it out. Then stumbling across the floor he stealthily left the barn and set out across the snowy fields to a tumble-down shanty, sole survivor of a string of negro huts long since burned one by one in the library fireplace. Into its dilapidated interior he thrust the protesting turkey, pausing at the door as he struck a match to view the bird's temporary quarters.

"Now, Massa Job Fairfax," he began, "I knows yoh is jus' mad clean through. Yoh jus' naturally objects to bein' toted out in de snow in de middle o' de turkey night 'thout bein' asked. Yoh says yoh back is full o' snow? Well, I jus' asks yoh, Massa Job Fairfax, ain't dat better'n bein' wifout a head? Now, sah, I asks yoh to be mos' terrible quiet dis yere night. I'se a-goin' into Cotesville on a little trip an' I doan want de Colonel to know yoh here."

He closed the rickety door, and, hurrying back across the fields, sought the kitchen, his eyes behind their spectacles shining with excitement. Muffling himself in a quaint red knitted scarf, a dingy overcoat and a worn fur cap, plentifully earlapped, he left the house again, pausing only long enough to peer through the library window at the Colonel, who was reading aloud to his wife, both drawn up in the cheery warmth of a blazing wood fire. Then he hurried on along the road to town.

With a prayer in his heart for the success of his mission Uncle Noah trudged sturdily down the two miles to Cotesville, past Major Verney's old plantation, the cheery lights of the great house twinkling brightly through a curtain of snow, and into the snow-laden air of the village streets alive with Christmas shoppers. Holly and mistletoe, Christmas trees filling the air with the odor of pine, dancing snowflakes and bright lights, wonderful windows wreathed and dotted in Christmas glitter, and cheery voices--who could resist them? Uncle Noah felt his heart quiver with hope; jubilantly he turned his steps toward the railroad station ahead.

The Northern Express flashed through the snow and came to a stop with a clang and a roar, disgorging a chattering holiday crowd who paused for a change of cars at Cotesville on their southbound trips. Uncle Noah hastened his shuffling footsteps: the Northern Express with its horde of transient visitors had been a vital part of the inspiration. Upon the station platform people stamped up and down in the snow or laughed and chatted, quite oblivious to the timid gaze of the old darky who slowly made his way among them. One by one Uncle Noah left them all behind, a great disappointment in his face. In their laughing countenances he had found nothing of what he sought.

III
The Gray-Eyed Lady

III

Just ahead a girl appeared from the shadows and walked quickly toward the waiting-room. Uncle Noah looked into her fresh, sweet face; then his own lit up with renewed hope and he followed her in and touched her timidly on the arm. The girl turned, revealing a face rosy with cold, and a pair of warm gray eyes fringed in lashes of black, eyes that frankly offered a glimpse of a girl's impulsive heart brimming over with Christmas spirit.

Uncle Noah removed the battered fur cap and bowed low with the deference of a Cavalier. "I'se jus' come in to--to ask yoh, Miss," he said simply, "if yoh'd like to buy an ol' nigger servant. I'se foh sale."

"For sale!" The girl took in the quaint figure with a glance of blank astonishment. "Why," she gasped, "surely you--"

"I'se ol', Miss," he interrupted timidly, but meeting her gaze with unwavering sincerity; "I specs I'se mos' a hundred; but I'se powahful tough an' full o' work, an'--an', Miss, I has to sell maself tonight 'cause--'cause--"

Uncle Noah paused uncertainly, seeking a fit expression of his dilemma, and the girl, readily intuitive, glanced swiftly about to assure herself that the waiting-room was free from unsympathetic eavesdroppers. Then, strangely drawn by this quaint old vender of humanity, and warmly eager to put him more at his ease, she impulsively pushed a rocking-chair toward the old stove in the center and motioned him to be seated. But Uncle Noah had been reared in the Fairfax family, and a Fairfax never sat when a lady was still upon her feet. With a courtly gesture the old man bowed her to the chair she had drawn for him. A quick gleam of approval flashed in the gray eyes and with a deepening flush of puzzled interest, the girl instantly seated herself, unfastening the silver fox at her throat as she felt the warmth of the old country stove.

"Please, I would so much rather you, too, would sit down," she said impulsively, and as Uncle Noah drew forward another of the rickety old rocking-chairs with which the Cotesville waiting-room was dotted, she bent toward him--a light in the wonderful gray eyes that won Uncle Noah's heart.

"Tell me," she said kindly: "Tell me just why you want to sell yourself."

No, she had not laughed at him. Uncle Noah glowed to the tips of his fingers at the ready sympathy of her tone. He beamed mildly at her over his spectacles, turning the old fur cap round and round in his hands as he sought to voice the words that struggled to his lips. "Ol' Massa's money--an', Miss, he hain't had much since de War; jus' 'nuff to live comfutable--all go in de Cotesville bank crash las' fall an' he doan want ol' Mis' foh to know. I'se de only one o' de niggers whut's left, an' dere's only one ol' turkey gobbler left o' de stock. He's my ol' pet, Miss, mos' like a chile, an'--an'--" Uncle Noah choked.

The girl's eyes were misty velvet. "And he told you to kill your pet for the Christmas dinner?" she finished gently.

Uncle Noah nodded. "Massa done say we mus' hab a turkey for de Christmas dinner, or ol' Mis'll suspect de--de financial crisis whut we're in. Out in de barn I prays foh an inspiration an' I 'spect it come."

"And so you decided to sell yourself--" began the girl.

"Yas'm." Uncle Noah's voice had grown apologetic. "Yoh see, Miss, I'se de only thing whut I really owns 'cept dis yere ol' stickpin. Cose I'se free now, but I reckons if I has a mind to sell maself de Norf can't stop me. I'se sellin' ma own property." There was a gentle defiance in the old negro's argument.

"And you--you wouldn't accept a--a loan?" The girl flushed.

The negro's hurt eyes were answer enough. Uncle Noah had not lived in an atmosphere permeated with Fairfax pride without feeling its influence.

"I'se not askin' foh charity, Miss," he averred stubbornly. "I'se a-sellin' sumthin'. I reckons if yoh buy me, Miss, an' yoh lemme go back an' stay Christmas wif ol' Massa, I'll sell maself cheap. Yoh see I'se a-plannin' first to buy a turkey whut'll take Job's place on de platter, an' den to give de Massa a gran' Christmas wif de rest o' de money what I gits foh maself, savin' out jus' enough to buy ma ol' turkey an' come to yoh first day after Christmas. It'll be hard to leave ol' Massa and Mis', but I reckons it's jus' gotta be done."

Uncle Noah gulped and blinked, and there was a glimmer of wet lashes about the warm gray eyes that had won his heart.

The girl was silent so long that Uncle Noah shifted uneasily; but at last she spoke a little tremulously. "For what price will you sell yourself?" she asked, and Uncle Noah never doubted but that she regarded the purchase in the same light in which he himself had viewed it.

He turned about for his purchaser's thorough inspection, his bald head above the fringe of white wool about it glistening in the lamplight. "Do yoh think I'se wuth, say, twenty-five dollahs?" he queried, regarding her fixedly over his spectacles.

The girl touched her throat with an unconscious gesture. "Yes, you are," she cried impulsively; "you are indeed!" And before Uncle Noah had quite time to adjust himself to the joy of his unique sale the girl thrust a roll of bills into his hands and disappeared through the station door.

IV
Christmas Intrigue

IV

Uncle Noah hobbled after her. His new mistress had quite forgotten to tell him where to deliver himself when his Christmas with the Colonel was over. But when he reached the door she was eagerly greeting a man who had just alighted from a waiting carriage. Uncle Noah could but dimly see him, but as the genial voice reached his ears he halted in the shadow quite content. It was Major Verney. The fact that the Colonel's old friend and neighbor had driven in from Fernlands to meet the radiant lady whose great gray eyes, Uncle Noah now recalled, had had the Verney look which endeared the owner of Fernlands to all who knew him, seemed to the watching negro a direct interposition of Providence. A scant mile of cottonfields lay between the two plantations, and, Christmas over, Uncle Noah had but to trudge across the fields to deliver himself to the Major's guest.

"And, Ruth," concluded Major Verney in laughing reprimand, "you have kept me waiting. Why, child, the Northern Express came in fifteen minutes ago."

Uncle Noah did not catch the girl's reply as Major Verney assisted her into the carriage and they drove rapidly away.

The old darky beamed happily after the retreating carriage; then, with his hand tightly clasped about the precious roll of greenbacks for which he had so willingly bartered his freedom, he began a tour of the Cotesville stores. When at length he staggered into the big grocery store for his final purchases he was laden with a miscellaneous collection of Christmas packages from which he was cheerfully disentangled by the bulky proprietor himself. Uncle Noah made a critical pilgrimage about the store, pausing at last before a counter where the proprietor had laid out a number of turkeys for the careful inspection of this beaming shopper about to select an understudy for the incomparable Job. A very respectable fowl was presently mantled in brown paper and laid beside the other bundles, along with sundry bags of cranberries and apples, oranges and nuts, celery and raisins, cigars for the Colonel, a box of candy for Mrs. Fairfax, huge bunches of holly and mistletoe, Christmas wreaths for the windows, and a great bag of cracked corn for the reprieved tyrant gloomily roosting in the ruined hut.

As Uncle Noah carefully counted out the money required to purchase this astonishing outlay the bulky proprietor tasked pleasantly: "Uncle Noah, do you happen to know where I can get a good woman to scrub up my store every morning?"

Uncle Noah fingered his scarfpin uncertainly. "How much do yoh pay foh de work?" he queried.

"Fifty cents a day."

The negro leaned forward in tense expectancy. "Do yoh 'spect I could do it?" he demanded excitedly.

The proprietor, secretly astonished by the old man's manner, nodded assuringly. "Why, yes, you could easily; it's nothing much; but the Colonel--"

"Colonel doan have foh to know," exclaimed Uncle Noah. "I comes yere mornin's foh he's up--an I 'clare to goodness, sah, I needs de money mos' powahful."

The proprietor was easy-going and too phlegmatic to harbor curiosity. So the bargain was straightway sealed under a pledge of deepest secrecy.

Somewhat confused by the unusual series of events, Uncle Noah, his eyes shining with a strange excitement, started for the door, quite forgetting the countless packages on the counter.

The proprietor recalled him with a hearty laugh. "Uncle Noah," he called, "you've forgotten one or two little bundles here."

With a smothered gasp the old negro hurried back. But try as they would, room for all the numerous bundles could not be found. The proprietor energetically tucked bundles into all of Uncle Noah's pockets, piled them tower fashion upon his arms, and even hung a collection bound together with a string over his shoulder, while Uncle Noah wheezed and groaned and struggled to find new and unsuspected storage space in his clothes, but still there remained bundles and bundles at which Uncle Noah gazed over his spectacles in growing discomfiture.

"Whut am I a-goin' to do?" he demanded. "I nevah can come all de way hack yere in de snow wif dese yere ol' legs o' mine."

"Get one of them station cabs," advised the grocer; and so, after considerable discussion, the bundle problem was solved.

Ten minutes later Uncle Noah entered a hired carriage for the first time in his life. At the town florist's he rapped a timid signal to the driver to stop, and, glowing with anticipation, spryly shuffled into the warm, scented air of the little shop. Here, to the smiling clerk's astonishment, he ordered a bunch of violets to be delivered Christmas morning to "de young lady wif de gray eyes whut's at Major Verney's."

"Surely," smiled the clerk, "you don't want that on the card?"

But Uncle Noah was stubborn; more, he insisted on writing the inscription himself, his orthography quite as quaint as his penmanship, and so the card went to be read by the wonderful gray eyes in the morning.

Back through the snow in his rickety carriage rolled Uncle Noah, rattling home along the snowy road down which he had trudged in the early evening, chuckling now intermittently in a mental rehearsal of his new plan.

"Fifty cents a day!" he thought, "an' to-morrow I'se a-goin' to slip over to Fernlands in de mornin' an' ask her to lemme buy maself back on de 'stallment plan. Mos' likely she'll take a dollar a week, an' wid all de rest o' dat grocer money ol' Mis' doan have to know whut de Colonel an' me is a-goin' through."

In accordance with Uncle Noah's whispered directions the cab crept gently up the driveway at Brierwood and paused at the kitchen door, where the driver, who had taken a great fancy to Uncle Noah, became transformed into a benevolent stevedore, tiptoeing in and out of the kitchen with the bundles which the old darky drew from the cavernous pit of the cab. Job's understudy came last, and Uncle Noah, tightly pressing the precious fowl in his arms, watched the carriage drive slowly away. Then, after an interval in the kitchen devoted to hiding his purchases, he sought the library, striving to simulate a decent depression over the assumed decapitation of Job.

Colonel Fairfax looked up inquiringly as he entered.

"I'se jus' come to tell yoh, sah," said Uncle Noah with a meaning glance at Mrs. Fairfax, "dat I has de turkey all ready foh de oven."

A faint red crept through the Colonel's skin, but he met the darky's eyes squarely. "Thank you, Uncle Noah!" he said, and the negro shuffled hurriedly away.

In his old rocking-chair by the kitchen fire Uncle Noah, alert and excited, waited until he heard the Colonel and Mrs. Fairfax go up to bed; then, chuckling to himself, he extinguished the kitchen lights, and, carrying one of his Christmas bundles, plodded across the field to Job's nocturnal hermitage. The light of a match revealed the tyrant roosting glumly on the summit of a ruined plowshare.

"I'se brought yoh a Christmas surprise, Massa Job Fairfax," said Uncle Noah, and he sprinkled the floor of the hut thick with corn that the turkey might find it in the morning.

With his heart full of thanksgiving the negro plodded homeward through the snow. As he reached the old barn the great clock in the library struck twelve and faintly through the snowy air floated the distant silvery chimes of the Cotesville bells, clear and sweet, ringing in a Christmas morning.

Creeping to bed long after the first rooster had crowed Uncle Noah had sought the kitchen again with the sunrise, his tired eyes opening jubilantly upon a snapping cold Christmas morning radiant in gold and white. Downstairs clusters of holly and mistletoe festooned doors and windows, dotted the old-fashioned hanging lamps with spots of crimson, and crowned the family portraits with royal diadems, and evergreen wreaths hung in the windows--all the work of a wrinkled pair of faithful brown hands toiling while the world slept. In the library a blazing wood fire leaped and crackled, while in the dining-room the table was spread for breakfast. Certain long-needed articles of china, which had mysteriously disappeared from time to time since the autumn, dotted a tablecloth free from holes (a new one subjected to a severe laundry process during the night), and the napkins no longer resembled Ku-Klux masks. A great bowl of purple orchids glowed at Mrs. Fairfax's plate.