“Uncle Joab! Oh, Uncle Joab! This is just bully!”
The bent figure of the old darky stumbled in out of the night. He carried two bundles under his arm, each wrapped in layers of gunnysack; and he blinked, open-mouthed, at the lights and the faces that gathered about him.
“It sure is a befo’-de-war Chris’mus!” he ejaculated. Then he sniffed the air like an old dog on a scent. “’Pon ma soul, dat’s fried chick’n or Uncle Joab’s no sinner!”
They all laughed; and one by one they shook Uncle Joab’s hand as David introduced them. Once divested of his outside things, the old man turned his attention to his bundles and unwrapped them with great care. The first turned out to be his fiddle and he patted it lovingly.
“When I fust cotch sight o’ dat yeah post dis mo’nin’ I wa’n’t sure dat de sign was meant fo’ no ole nigger like Uncle Joab. Den I look ’round, but dere doan’t ’pear to be nobody else. So I brings along de ole fiddle, ’ca’se I reckon dat dey’ll be glad to see him if dey ’ain’t got no welcome fer me.”
“Sure, we’re hearty glad to see the both o’ ye.” And Barney spoke out for them all.
The old man beamed his gratitude as he unwrapped his second bundle. It held a paper sack; and Uncle Joab viewed the contents with approval before he handed it to David.
“M’lasses corn-balls; Chris’mus gif’ fo’ li’l’ boy,” he chuckled.
David’s thanks were cut short by the stamping of feet outside and a clang of the knocker. Again he flew to the door and found the eyes of the trapper looking down upon him with grave pleasure.
“Nicholas Bassaraba, my friend,” he said, proudly, and this was the way he made the trapper known to the others.