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