Uncle Noah's Christmas Inspiration by Leona Dalrymple
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UNCLE NOAH'S CHRISTMAS INSPIRATION
by
LEONA DALRYMPLE
Author of "Diane of the Green Van," "In the Heart of the Christmas
Pines," "Uncle Noah's Christmas Party," etc.
Illustrations by Charles L. Wrenn
Decorations by Charles Guischard
New York
McBride, Nast & Company
Third Printing
1914
[Frontispiece: He caught sight of the orchids and the tear-stained face
of his wife bending over them]
To C. A. W.
in grateful recognition
of an unfailing source of encouragement
and impartial criticism
Contents
I. CHRISTMAS EVE
II. THE INSPIRATION
III. THE GRAY-EYED LADY
IV. CHRISTMAS INTRIGUE
V. FERNLANDS
VI. THE COLONEL'S CHRISTMAS
The Illustrations
He caught sight of the orchids and the tear-stained face of his wife
bending over them . . . . Frontispiece
"Now, sah, yoh be quiet and listen to dis note I gets from young Massa
Dick"
"I'se jus' come in--to ask yoh, Miss, if you'd like to buy an ol'
nigger servant. I'se foh sale"
"Dick," he said queerly, holding out a trembling hand, "we're both
citizens of the United States, and--it's Christmas day"
I
Christmas Cheer
Uncle Noah's Christmas Inspiration
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.
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.
When at length he sought the barn it was quite dark and the velvet
stillness of the night was dotted thickly with snowflakes. With
trembling fingers he opened the great barn-door, lit a queer old
lantern hanging just within, and hung it high upon a projecting hook.
The dim light revealed an antique carriage-house, in one corner of
which upon a rude, improvised roost of shingles the tyrant Job slept
the sleep of the just and the unjust rolled into one. As the lights
flickered upon his ruffled feathers the turkey emitted a throaty grunt
of disapproval and moved cumbrously around to avoid the light.
Uncle Noah addressed him with great firmness. "Now see yere, Massa
Job," he said, "tain't no use yoh puttin' on yoh high and mighty airs
to-night. I'se come to interview yoh, sah! Understand?"
Job majestically tucked his head beneath his wing as if to intimate his
indifference to the proposed interview.
Uncle Noah surveyed his ruffled back feathers with increased 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 should get there Christmas Eve. Will you put
them at her plate in the morning? I find they are the only suggestion
of me that the Colonel will allow in the house. I tried another letter
this week, but it came back unopened. Uncle Noah, give Mother "A Merry
Christmas" for me. DICK.
[Illustration: Now, sah, yoh be quiet and listen to dis note I gets
from young Massa Dick]
Uncle Noah laid the letter on his knee and drew from a worn leather
wallet several newspaper clippings. They were glowing reports, gleaned
from a stray newspaper, of the success of a young architect in a
distant northern city, one Richard Fairfax, Jr. Uncle Noah proudly
read them aloud for the hundredth time, interpolating little
explanatory remarks to the turkey, who gobbled threateningly but failed
to intimidate his tormentor.
"Job, whut yoh think 'bout dis yere quarrel?" Uncle Noah said as the
turkey eyed him sternly. "I say de Colonel's too hard on de boy. A
quarrel's a quarrel, yoh say. H'm, maybe yoh right, but it's dis
Fairfax pride ob de Colonel's dat keep him from readin' de boy's
letters, and nothin' else, sah. He sorry for dat quarrel, doan you
fo'get it. But de Colonel he prouder'n Lucifer. H'm, yoh say yoh
understan' pride cause yoh is proud yohself." Then as the turkey
relapsed into slumber, "Now, see yere, Massa Job, yoh ain't no mo'
sleepier'n I is." Uncle Noah poked the turkey with his finger, and Job
arched his neck with a threatening flap of his wings and descended from
his perch. "Fight me, will yoh?" demanded Uncle Noah in secret
delight, "yoh is de touchiest bird! Yere, fight wid dese yere crusts
o' bread."
Job spread his tail magnificently and began an erratic consumption of
the bread crusts, pertly taking them one by one from the old negro's
hand and arranging them upon the barn floor for later and more personal
inspection. Uncle Noah watched him with misty eyes. Presently his
gaze furtively sought the rusty ax in the corner, and great tear rolled
down his cheek. Caught in the wave of a sudden panic he dropped upon
his knees and clasped his trembling hands. The dusky barn, littered
with odds and ends, was dimly visible in the glimmering light of the
old-fashioned lantern whose slanting rays fell upon the doomed bird and
the praying negro. No thought of sacrilege marred the quaint, halting
prayer. A terrible earnestness lined the negro's face with a holiness
of purpose and made it beautiful.
"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 bein' asked. Yoh says yoh back is
full o' snow? Well, I jus' asks yoh, Massa Job Fairfax, ain't dat
better'n bein' wifout a head? Now, sah, I asks yoh to be mos' terrible
quiet dis yere night. I'se a-goin' into Cotesville on a little trip
an' I doan want de Colonel to know yoh here."
He closed the rickety door, and, hurrying back across the fields,
sought the kitchen, his eyes behind their spectacles shining with
excitement. Muffling himself in a quaint red knitted scarf, a dingy
overcoat and a worn fur cap, plentifully earlapped, he left the house
again, pausing only long enough to peer through the library window at
the Colonel, who was reading aloud to his wife, both drawn up in the
cheery warmth of a blazing wood fire. Then he hurried on along the
road to town.
With a prayer in his heart for the success of his mission Uncle Noah
trudged sturdily down the two miles to Cotesville, past Major Verney's
old plantation, the cheery lights of the great house twinkling brightly
through a curtain of snow, and into the snow-laden air of the village
streets alive with Christmas shoppers. Holly and mistletoe, Christmas
trees filling the air with the odor of pine, dancing snowflakes and
bright lights, wonderful windows wreathed and dotted in Christmas
glitter, and cheery voices--who could resist them? Uncle Noah felt his
heart quiver with hope; jubilantly he turned his steps toward the
railroad station ahead.
The Northern Express flashed through the snow and came to a stop with a
clang and a roar, disgorging a chattering holiday crowd who paused for
a change of cars at Cotesville on their southbound trips. Uncle Noah
hastened his shuffling footsteps: the Northern Express with its horde
of transient visitors had been a vital part of the inspiration. Upon
the station platform people stamped up and down in the snow or laughed
and chatted, quite oblivious to the timid gaze of the old darky who
slowly made his way among them. One by one Uncle Noah left them all
behind, a great disappointment in his face. In their laughing
countenances he had found nothing of what he sought.
III
The Gray-Eyed Lady
III
Just ahead a girl appeared from the shadows and walked quickly toward
the waiting-room. Uncle Noah looked into her fresh, sweet face; then
his own lit up with renewed hope and he followed her in and touched her
timidly on the arm. The girl turned, revealing a face rosy with cold,
and a pair of warm gray eyes fringed in lashes of black, eyes that
frankly offered a glimpse of a girl's impulsive heart brimming over
with Christmas spirit.
Uncle Noah removed the battered fur cap and bowed low with the
deference of a Cavalier. "I'se jus' come in to--to ask yoh, Miss," he
said simply, "if yoh'd like to buy an ol' nigger servant. I'se foh
sale."
[Illustration: "I'se jus' come in to--to ask yoh, Miss," he said
simply, "if yoh'd like to buy an ol' nigger servant. I'se foh sale."]
"For sale!" The girl took in the quaint figure with a glance of blank
astonishment. "Why," she gasped, "surely you--"
"I'se ol', Miss," he interrupted timidly, but meeting her gaze with
unwavering sincerity; "I specs I'se mos' a hundred; but I'se powahful
tough an' full o' work, an'--an', Miss, I has to sell maself tonight
'cause--'cause--"
Uncle Noah paused uncertainly, seeking a fit expression of his dilemma,
and the girl, readily intuitive, glanced swiftly about to assure
herself that the waiting-room was free from unsympathetic
eavesdroppers. Then, strangely drawn by this quaint old vender of
humanity, and warmly eager to put him more at his ease, she impulsively
pushed a rocking-chair toward the old stove in the center and motioned
him to be seated. But Uncle Noah had been reared in the Fairfax
family, and a Fairfax never sat when a lady was still upon her feet.
With a courtly gesture the old man bowed her to the chair she had drawn
for him. A quick gleam of approval flashed in the gray eyes and with a
deepening flush of puzzled interest, the girl instantly seated herself,
unfastening the silver fox at her throat as she felt the warmth of the
old country stove.
"Please, I would _so_ much rather you, too, would sit down," she said
impulsively, and as Uncle Noah drew forward another of the rickety old
rocking-chairs with which the Cotesville waiting-room was dotted, she
bent toward him--a light in the wonderful gray eyes that won Uncle
Noah's heart.
"Tell me," she said kindly: "Tell me just why you want to sell
yourself."
No, she had not laughed at him. Uncle Noah glowed to the tips of his
fingers at the ready sympathy of her tone. He beamed mildly at her
over his spectacles, turning the old fur cap round and round in his
hands as he sought to voice the words that struggled to his lips. "Ol'
Massa's money--an', Miss, he hain't had much since de War; jus' 'nuff
to live comfutable--all go in de Cotesville bank crash las' fall an' he
doan want ol' Mis' foh to know. I'se de only one o' de niggers whut's
left, an' dere's only one ol' turkey gobbler left o' de stock. He's my
ol' pet, Miss, mos' like a chile, an'--an'--" Uncle Noah choked.
The girl's eyes were misty velvet. "And he told you to kill your pet
for the Christmas dinner?" she finished gently.
Uncle Noah nodded. "Massa done say we mus' hab a turkey for de
Christmas dinner, or ol' Mis'll suspect de--de financial crisis whut
we're in. Out in de barn I prays foh an inspiration an' I 'spect it
come."
"And so you decided to sell yourself--" began the girl.
"Yas'm." Uncle Noah's voice had grown apologetic. "Yoh see, Miss,
I'se de only thing whut I really owns 'cept dis yere ol' stickpin.
Cose I'se free now, but I reckons if I has a mind to sell maself de
Norf can't stop me. I'se sellin' ma own property." There was a gentle
defiance in the old negro's argument.
"And you--you wouldn't accept a--a loan?" The girl flushed.
The negro's hurt eyes were answer enough. Uncle Noah had not lived in
an atmosphere permeated with Fairfax pride without feeling its
influence.
"I'se not askin' foh charity, Miss," he averred stubbornly. "I'se
a-sellin' sumthin'. I reckons if yoh buy me, Miss, an' yoh lemme go
back an' stay Christmas wif ol' Massa, I'll sell maself cheap. Yoh see
I'se a-plannin' first to buy a turkey whut'll take Job's place on de
platter, an' den to give de Massa a gran' Christmas wif de rest o' de
money what I gits foh maself, savin' out jus' enough to buy ma ol'
turkey an' come to yoh first day after Christmas. It'll be hard to
leave ol' Massa and Mis', but I reckons it's jus' gotta be done."