[Story of Uncle Dick:]
Uncle Dick, a negro servant of one of the Hendersons, was the fiddler of the neighborhood at weddings, husking parties and dances. Dick's presence was essential. Uncle Dick was fully aware of his own importance, and in consequence assumed a great deal of dignity in his bearing. Before setting out he always dressed himself with the greatest nicety. At the appointed time he was at the place with all the weight of his dignity upon him. Woe to the "darkies" who violated any of the laws of etiquette in his presence.
On a certain evening there was to be a grand wedding festival among the colored gentry on a farm about 6 miles from Uncle Dick's residence. He was, of course called upon to officiate as master of ceremonies. He donned his long-tailed blue coat, having carefully polished the glittering gilt buttons; then raised his immense shirt collar, which he considered essential to his dignity, and, fiddle in hand, sallied forth alone. The younger folk had set out sometime before; but Uncle Dick was not to be hurried out of his dignity.
The narrow path led, for the greater part of the way, through a dense forest, which was as wild as when roamed by the Indians. A heavy snow lay on the ground, on which the moonbeams were shining whenever they could force a passage through the trees.
The dreary solitude of the way made no impression on the mind of Uncle Dick. He was anxiously hurrying on to reach the scene of operation, having spent a little too much time in polishing his gilt buttons.
On he dashed, heedless of the black shadows and hideous night cries of the deep forest. Wolves were howling around him; but he paid no attention to sounds so common, thinking only of the feet that were waiting his arrival to be set in motion.
Soon, however, the howling began to approach nearer than was agreeable, The wolves continued to become more and more noisy, till, to his indescribable horror, he heard them on each side of the crackling bushes.
Very soon the woods seemed to the old man to be alive with the yelling pack. Wolves are cautious about attacking human beings; they usually require some little time to work themselves up to the point. Every few moments a dark object would brush past poor old Dick's legs with a snapping sound like that of a steel trap, while the yelling and crackling increased with terrible rapidity.
Dick new that to run would mean instant death, as the cowardly pack would all rush on him the moment he showed fear. His only chance of safety consisted in preserving the utmost coolness. A short distance before him lay some open ground; and he hoped that on reaching this they would leave him, as they do not like to make an attack in such a place.