I

The twilight of a Christmas Eve, gray with the portent of coming snow, crept slowly over the old plantation of Brierwood, softening the outlines of a decrepit house still rearing its roof in massive dignity and a tumbledown barn flanked by barren fields. A quiet melancholy hovered about the old house as if it brooded over a host of bygone Yuletides alive with the shouts of merry negroes and the jingle of visiting sleighs--Yuletides when the snowy dusk had been ushered in to the lowing of cattle and the neighing of horses safely housed in the old barn. There were no negroes now, no blooded stock--no fluttering fowls save one belligerent old turkey gobbler fleeing from a white-haired darky who tried in vain to drive him to his roost in the barn.

In the library of the old house a man, tall and eagle-eyed, peered out beneath bushy white eyebrows at the fading landscape blurred by the dancing forms of the negro and the recalcitrant turkey. He watched the chase end with an impertinent gobble from the turkey, and, at the sound of a closing door in the rear of the house, tapped a bell at his side. Footsteps shuffled along the hallway, and, breathless from his chase, the old negro entered.

Colonel Fairfax wheeled with military precision. "Uncle Noah," he said sternly, "to-morrow will be Christmas."

The darky nodded and hobbled hurriedly to the wood fire, bending over as he poked it to hide the look of anxiety in his face. "Laws-a-massy, Massa Fairfax," he grumbled in good-natured evasion, "yoh'd mos' freeze to deaf, I reckons, 'thout sendin' foh me"--he coughed, and amended hastily: "'thout sendin' foh one ob de servants to pile up dis yere fire."

The amendment was but one of Uncle Noah's many subterfuges to convince himself and his master that there had been no changes in the Fairfax fortunes since the old days. That he was the last of the Colonel's retainers, a wageless, loyal old dependent attending to the manifold tasks of a sole domestic, the negro never admitted even to himself. That his quaint pretensions, however, were daily stimulants to the fierce old Colonel hungrily eating his heart out with memories Uncle Noah was well aware. So the pitiful little subterfuges, revealing the subtle understanding of the two, peopled the old house with swarming negroes and the horn of plenty to the joy of both.

But to-day Uncle Noah felt uneasily that the reference to the servants had not bolstered the Colonel as it usually did, and the old darky groaned inwardly as he added wood to the fire. From the corner of his eye he saw that the Colonel had drawn himself up to military rigidity, an evidence that the old soldier was on his mettle and would brook no opposition.

"Uncle Noah," he said, fixing a stern eye on the old man, "in the Fairfax family there has always been a turkey at Christmas."

There was no suggestion in the darky's affable tones of the erratic manner in which his heart was beating. "Yes, sah," he agreed, "ofttimes mo' than one."

"Owing to circumstances understood by you and myself, but by ho one else, there would be no turkey this year save that--"

"Y-e-e-s, sah?" Uncle Noah laid a wrinkled brown hand upon the nearest chair for support.

"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 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?"

To Uncle Noah this nightly question had become a sacred institution, a stimulus to imaginative powers highly developed in his quaint dialogues with the Colonel. He forgot the doomed Job. It was Christmas Eve, and his creative gift took festive wings.

"Well, sah," he beamed, "we has a little chicken gumbo, some fried chicken jus' the right golden brown, sah, creamed potatoes, hot biscuits with currant jelly--er--sliced ham and baked potatoes."

Colonel Fairfax thoughtfully considered the appetizing prospect in accordance with the rules of the game. What mattered it that the luscious edibles existed only in the brain of the loyal old darky? The little pretense gave to each a delightful thrill--surely an adequate extenuation of the harmless diversion. As usual Colonel Fairfax found the key to the situation in the closing items of Uncle Noah's list.

"It all sounds delicious, Uncle Noah," he observed graciously, "but I have a touch of my old enemy the dyspepsia today. I think I shall have sliced ham and baked potatoes. That, I think, will do for us both."

Mrs. Fairfax agreed, her kindly eyes fixed upon Uncle Noah's attentive face.

"And, sah," Uncle Noah began--it was Christmas Eve and this game must be perfectly played--"shall I attend to de distribution of gifts in de negroes' quarters, sah?"

"Yes," agreed the Colonel, "see that no one is slighted!"

Mrs. Fairfax bowed her wistful face upon her hands to hide the blinding tears, and an odd, uncomfortable silence fell upon the little group.

At length the Colonel pushed his chair back and rose. "Uncle Noah," he said sternly, a suspicious brightness gleaming in his eyes, "that turkey of yours is making a terrible noise under the window. Make him quit gobbling. Patricia, I don't wonder he makes you nervous. He's an old renegade!"

That the object of the Colonel's wrath had long since retired to roost mattered not to his accuser. The turkey had developed a convenient habit of gobbling under the window whenever emotion forced the Colonel to seek a vent in stern commands. Uncle Noah crossed to the window and commanded Job to be silent. Mrs. Fairfax, southern gentlewoman and thoroughbred from tip to toe, quivered proudly, and, as Uncle Noah returned, bade him serve the supper in tones as well controlled as they were gentle.

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