brought the old negro back from the field of sentiment to the barren
desert of reality. Dimly in his mental chaos stood forth three
pitiless facts: "Ol' Missus" was grieving her heart out for the son
with whom the Colonel had quarreled three years before; of this money
trouble from which Colonel Fairfax had shielded her she must as yet
know nothing; and there was no turkey for the Christmas dinner. Verily
things looked dark for the ill-fated Job, roosting in unsuspecting
security in the desolate old barn. With bowed head the darky walked
slowly toward the door.

"Uncle Noah," the Colonel's tones were incisive, "you will kill Job
tonight."

"I mos' forgot, Massa Dick," faltered Uncle Noah, "dat supper's ready,
sah. Ol' Missus done come downstairs jus' foh I chases Job to roost.
Laws-a-massy, Massa Dick, can't he live till after supper?"

The Colonel nodded, carefully avoiding the old man's troubled eyes, and
went to join his wife at supper.

"Christmas Eve, my dear," he announced cheerfully as he bent to kiss
the sweet, wistful face that turned to greet him. "I beg your pardon
for keeping you waiting. Uncle Noah and I were discussing to-morrow's
turkey;" he gazed calmly at the old negro nervously handling the tea
things; "he has selected a large bird and I have been advising a
smaller."

The Colonel opened his napkin and deftly tucked the hole in the end out
of sight beneath the table. "Now, Uncle Noah, what is there to-night
for supper?"