"We have a live turkey in stock," ended the Colonel firmly, looking
squarely into the trembling negro's eyes.

Uncle Noah's heart gave a convulsive leap. The thunderbolt had fallen!
The fierce old turkey gobbler, solitary tenant of the crazy
outbuildings, the imperial tyrant upon whom Uncle Noah had bestowed the
affection of his loyal old heart, had been sentenced to death by the
highest earthly tribunal the old negro recognized.

"I'se--I'se afeard he'll be tough, Colonel Fairfax," he quavered.
"I--I--Gord-a-massy, Massa Dick, yoh wouldn't kill ol' Job? He's too
smart foh a bird an' he's done a most powahful sight o' runnin', sah; I
reckons he's mos' all muscle."

There was an agonized appeal in the darky's voice that cut straight to
the Colonel's heart. "Uncle Noah," he said kindly, "it can't be
helped. Job goes for the sake of--someone else."

"Ol' Missus?"

"Yes. Thank God, Uncle Noah," the Colonel laid a gentle hand on the
negro's shoulder, "that she doesn't know of our--er--financial
crisis"--his halting utterance showed how distasteful the words were to
him--"save, of course, that we must live with economy, as we have for
years. Of the catastrophe of last fall she is ignorant, and a Fairfax
Christmas without a turkey would--she must not know," he finished
abruptly.

The Colonel had spoken with a simple dignity and confidence that