The Colonel stopped abruptly, reddened as his eyes fell upon the negro
(Uncle Noah had wisely turned away), and sternly reseated himself,
somewhat confused by his thoughtless reference to the late lamented Job,

Uncle Noah hobbled from the room, his brown face working convulsively.
In the kitchen he shook with silent laughter, doubling over
breathlessly and clasping his hands over his stomach in aching distress.

"And what, Uncle Noah," asked the Colonel kindly as the old negro
presently re-entered the dining-room, "have we for our Christmas
breakfast?"

"Well, sah," Uncle Noah began fluently, "we has grapefruit, cereal wif
cream, quail on toast, fried oysters--er--oatmeal, hot muffins, fried
chicken, co'nbread an' coffee!"

The Colonel, appearing to be thoughtfully considering his choice,
replied as usual: "It all sounds delicious, Uncle Noah, but I have a
touch of my old enemy dyspepsia to-day. I think I shall have some
cornbread and coffee, and so will Mrs. Fairfax."

"I doan think you quite understand me, sah," averred Uncle Noah, "an'
sah, I 'spects yoh dyspepsia ain't so bad dis mornin'. We has foh
breakfast, sah, grapefruit, cereal wif cream, quail on toast, fried
oysters--er--_oatmeal, fried chicken, hot muffins, co'nbread an'
coffee_!"

There was no mistaking the emphasis this time. Colonel Fairfax darted
a lightning glance at the negro and amended his selection with a