The Colonel selected a fresh taper, kindled it in the flame of Aunt Nancy’s top candle, and turning to Chad, who was standing behind his chair, said:
“I’m goin’ to put you, Chad, where you belong,—right alongside of me. Here, Katy darlin’, take this taper and light this white candle for me, and I’ll light the brown one for Chad,” and he picked up another taper, lighted it, and handed it to the child.
“Now!”
As the two candles flashed into flame, the Colonel leaned over, and holding out his hand to the old servant—boys together, these two, said in a voice full of tenderness:
“Many years together, Chad,—many years, old man.”
Chad’s face broke into a smile as he pressed the Colonel’s hand:
“Thank ye, marster,” was all he trusted himself to say—a title the days of freedom had never robbed him of—and then he turned his head to hide the tears.
During this whole scene little Jim had stood on tiptoe, his eyes growing brighter and brighter as each candle flashed into a blaze. Up to the time of the lighting of the last guest candle his face had expressed nothing but increasing delight. When, however, Mammy Henny’s candle, and then Chad’s were kindled, I saw an expression of wonderment cross his features which gradually settled into one of profound disappointment.
But the Colonel had not yet taken his seat. He had relighted the taper—this time from Mammy Henny’s candle—and stood with it in his hand, peering into the branches as if looking for something he had lost.
“Ah, here’s another. I wonder—who—this—little—yaller—candle—can—be—for,” he said slowly, looking around the room and accentuating each word. “I reckon they’re all here—Let me see—Aunt Nancy, Mr. Klutchem, Katy, Fitz, the Major, Mammy Henny, Chad, and me—Yes—all here—Oh!!” and he looked at the boy with a quizzical smile on his face—“I came vehy near forgettin’.