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