eautiful.

"Oh, Lord," he prayed, "save dis yere ol' turkey gobbler. I knows,
Lord, he's a powahful wuthless bird, but he's all I'se got. I'se jus'
an' ol' slave, Massa, what's been free since de War, an' Job, sah, he
understan's me. Lord, I doan wanta live no mo' if I has to kill ol'
Job. Send me an inspiration, Lord, an' tell me how I can save his
wuthless ol' hide. Save him an'--an' God bless de Colonel! Amen."

For an interval, in which the only sound was that of Job's feet as he
strutted about seeking an edible successor to the bread, Uncle Noah
remained upon his knees in the attitude of prayer, perhaps awaiting
inspiration. At length he rose, and, seating himself upon the box once
more, buried his white head dejectedly in his hands. The snow-flakes
filtered slowly through a crevice at the side, heaping fantastically
into a miniature drift. Absently Uncle Noah watched them, his mind
traveling back to many a snowy Christmas "before the War."

Suddenly his brown face glowed with radiance and he drew a long breath
of relief. "Job," he said, leaning forward and patting the turkey, "I
has it! Yoh'd scarcely believe it, sah, but I'se a-goin' to save yoh."

He arose transformed, the despondent droop of his lean body replaced by
an alert energy. "Now, Job," he coaxed, "I jus' wants yoh foh to come
along wif me peaceable, sah. I'se after yoh to save yoh ol' hide from
de Christmas platter."

But Job, with a malicious enjoyment of the game, was prancing wildly
about the barn, flapping his wings in hysterical derision of his
breathless pursuer. Brought to bay he squawked a protest and struggled
violently as Uncle Noah unceremoniously imprisoned him beneath one arm.

"There, sah," exclaimed the negro triumphantly, "I has yoh! Yoh is
sartinly the mos' wuthless turkey on dis yere plantation."

Tightly clasping the outraged tyrant Uncle Noah tiptoed to the lantern
and blew it out. Then stumbling across the floor he stealthily left
the barn and set out across the snowy fields to a tumble-down shanty,
sole survivor of a string of negro huts long since burned one by one in
the library fireplace. Into its dilapidated interior he thrust the
protesting turkey, pausing at the door as he struck a match to view the
bird's temporary quarters.

"Now, Massa Job Fairfax," he began, "I knows yoh is jus' mad clean
through. Yoh jus' naturally objects to bein' toted out in de snow in
de middle o' de turkey night 'thout bei