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