reased respect.
"So," he said, "yoh refuse me an interview, Massa Job Fairfax. Yoh is
sleepy, sah, dat's whut's got into yoh." He stroked the turkey with a
gentle hand, and, Job, resenting the indignity, withdrew his head from
the sheltering wing and pecked at the brown fingers, turning around
with a stately movement and facing the light once more with a sleepy
blink of his bright, beadlike eyes.

"Now, sah, we can talk," exclaimed the negro in delight. Drawing up an
old box he seated himself before the roost and beamed benevolently over
his glasses.

"Colonel done say yoh gobble under de winder 'bout suppertime," he
began confidentially. "When ol' Mis' cry 'bout young Massa Dick de
Colonel he jus' gotta scold 'bout sumthin', and as yoh is de mos'
important person about he jus' naturally selects yoh."

The turkey held his head upon one side, apparently in critical
admiration of the darky's quaint old scarfpin which resembled a grain
of corn mounted on a needle.

Uncle Noah, who had always had a faint mistrust of Job's attitude
toward this ancient Ethiopian heirloom, promptly removed it to a place
of safety. Then with a sudden resolve that no thought of the coming
tragedy should mar his last visit with his old companion he rose and
sought a dim, cobwebby corner of the barn, whence he returned with a
box.

"Dese yere, Job," he explained, "is de flowers whut young Massa Dick
have sent to his mother ebery holiday since he done went away from
yere. Mornin', I specs, when de Colonel sees 'em at her plate, he'll
declare yoh gobblin' sumthin' fierce under de winder again; he always
do."

The old negro broke the string of the box and removed a glowing mass of
purple orchids--odd, transient tenants of the crazy old barn. Job
suddenly reached over and pecked a blossom from its stem, ate the heart
with the dainty air of an epicure, and discarded the remainder with a
noise akin to a gobble of disgust.

Uncle Noah rose in scandalized protest. "Yoh good-foh-nothin',
miserable, sassy turkey!" he scolded, hastily removing the orchids;
"you sartinly is de mos' scan'lous, no-'count bird I ever knowed. Eat
one o' ol' Missus's orchards! Laws-a-massy, Job, yoh goes mos' too
far. Now, sah, yoh be quiet and listen to dis note I gets from young
Massa Dick," and he carefully deciphered the written lines for the
listening Job.

_Dear Uncle Noah_: I have written Foster and Company as usual to send
Mother's orchids. They s