It was beautiful to see the colonel's face when Chad, with a bow like
a folding jack-knife, held this dish before him.

"Lay 'em here, Chad--right under my nose. Now hand me that pile of
plates sizzlin' hot, and give that carvin' knife a turn or two across
the hearth. Major, dip a bit of celery in the salt and follow it with
a mou'ful of claret. It will prepare yo' palate for the kind of food
we raise gentlemen on down my way. See that red blood, suh, followin'
the knife!"

"Suit you, marsa?" Chad never forgot his slave days.
"To a turn, Chad,--I wouldn't take a thousand dollars for you," replied
the colonel, relapsing as unconsciously into an old habit.

It was not to be wondered at that the colonel loved a good dinner. To
dine well was with him an inherited instinct; one of the necessary
preliminaries to all the important duties in life. To share with you
his last crust was a part of his religion; to eat alone, a crime.

"There, Major," said the colonel as Chad laid the smoking plate before
me, "is the breast of a bird that fo' days ago was divin' for wild
celery within fo'ty miles of Caarter Hall. My dear old aunt Nancy sends
me a pair every week, bless her sweet soul! Fill yo' glasses and let
us drink to her health and happiness." Here the colonel rose from his
chair: "Gentlemen, the best thing on this earth--a true Southern lady!

"Now, Chad, the red pepper."

[Illustration]