“Who else is out there?”
“No one but Uncle Andy; he is the oldest person in the neighborhood. Papa and Uncle Val say that he was the best servant on the place when able to work.”
“What does he do now?”
“He brings in cobs and shells peas, and other light work to help Kitty. He loves to count his coins, and we all give him the new, bright pieces we get. He sings hymns and nothing pleases him better than to admire his coins and praise his singing.”
Mrs. Courtney gave consent and when the four boys reached the kitchen there was a general stir among their dusky entertainers until their guests had the best places about the great stone-flagged hearth, and although not more than two hours since they had finished supper, the impromptu cookery was relished.
In the most comfortable corner of the hearth sat Uncle Andy, his white wool glistening in the firelight, and which illumined every corner of the large kitchen. It was the first hickory wood and cob fire the boys had ever seen, and they admired it greatly.
“We have told Ralph and James how well you sing, Uncle Andy,” said Roy; “we told them you are fond of music.”
“’Deed I is, honey; ’deed I is!” confirmed Andy gleefully, “’kase dar is a promise, honey, dar suttinly is a promise to dem dat likes music.”
“Won’t you sing something, Uncle Andy? We all want to hear you.”
“Suttinly, honey, suttinly!” and leaning his head upon the back of his high chair he sang a favorite hymn, adding stanza after stanza of his own improvising, and keeping time with his foot, Kitty, Chloe and Mose joining in the chorus. The boys expressed such genuine pleasure in the concert that hymn followed hymn, Andy reviving the melodies of his boyhood for their entertainment.