Uncle Noah's Christmas Inspiration by Leona Dalrymple


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Page 3

"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.




II

The Inspiration




II

In the great barren kitchen Uncle Noah wiped his steel-rimmed
spectacles and glared angrily about him.

"Ol' Missus grievin' her heart out foh young Massa Dick," he reflected,
"and de Colonel say '_slight no one_!' Gord-a-massy, whut am dis yere
ol' worl' a-comin' to? Ebery time ol' Mis' cry for young Massa Dick,
Colonel say Job gobbles--"

The old darky choked miserably at the thought of the destined check to
Job's gobbling career and, replacing his spectacles, carefully carried
in the supper, prolonging its simple service to the uttermost, with the
single idea of adding precious minutes to the doomed turkey's span of
life.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Thu 28th Mar 2024, 19:42