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.