“Naw, ’m,” promptly answered Solomon ’Zekiel.
“And this is Christmas Eve!” cried Betty. “Now Aunt Tulip will take you into the kitchen and give you a good supper, Solomon ’Zekiel—oh, I can’t stand all that name—you are as black as the kettle, so we’ll just call you Kettle for the present.”
His new name and the prospect of supper seemed to delight the little negro beyond words.
By that time Uncle Cesar had driven the rockaway up to the door, and the Colonel was handing Betty in and muffling her up, as one muffles up his chief and only treasure. Aunt Tulip brought out Uncle Cesar’s fiddle-case with his fiddle, for Uncle Cesar was an essential person in that neighborhood, on account of his expert fiddling. Old Whitey, a big, handsome horse, was dancing about in a manner so sprightly, in spite of his thirteen years, that Betty felt certain he would make a good appearance at the Christmas hunt.
CHAPTER V
CHRISTMAS COMES BUT ONCE A YEAR
It was not much after seven o’clock, but early hours are kept in the country, and there was a six-mile drive between Holly Lodge and Marrowbone. Betty enjoyed the drive, inhaling the icy, crisp night air as if it were champagne. Old Whitey did the six miles in less than an hour, and Betty was in the thick of the arrivals for the party. The hospitable host, Major Lindsay—for there were many majors and colonels in Virginia in those days—met his guests on the great portico, with the big wooden Doric columns.
“How do you do, Miss Betty?” Major Lindsay said. “And where is the Colonel, pray?”