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.
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