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.
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