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 NUMBER 564

VOL. XCIV

LIPPIN COTT’S

MONTHLY

MAGAZINE

DECEMBER, 1914

UNCLE NOAH'S CHRISTMAS PARTY BY LEONA DALRYMPLE

Author of “Uncle Noah's Christmas Inspiration,” “Diane of the Green Van,” etc. [This is Miss Dalrymple's first story since the publication of her famous success,

“Diane of the

Green Van.”

It is complete in itself, but those who have followed the author's previous work will recognize an old friend in Uncle Noah..]"

I HRISTMAS EVE had touched

forgotten his beloved pet, there were many reasons.

the old plantation with a wand of cheer. Beyond the trees, silhouetted darkly against the snowy fields, the rambling house patched the dusk with squares of light. Holly wreaths, hung in the windows by the solitary old negro servant who had clung to Colonel Fairfax since the days before the war, etched upon the snow ragged

the thread-bare old house was still

shadows of leaves and berries which

—and Uncle Noah's Christmas re

to Job, the fierce old turkey gobbler

sponsibilities had been sufficient to

prowling about them in mystified in

banish for once the needs of his feathered chum.

terest, were sufficiently deceptive to tempt him into ineffective pecks. For Job was restless and hungry and presently if the gentle old negro,

The holly-decked windows and doorways were a reason; the pantry groaning with Christmas delicacies was a reason; the spotless order of another reason. For young Massa Dick, the Colonel's son, was coming home from the North for Christmas

with his wife, Major Verney's niece

Ears primed for the jingle of sleighbells, the darky hobbled to the library with a question. Colonel

whose shadow loomed grotesquely on

Fairfax rattled his newspaper, low

the kitchen shade, did not appear and begin the nightly ceremonial of driving his rebellious pet to roost in the barn, Job would be obliged to re

ered his bushy eyebrows and glanced sternly at the clock. . “Certainly it's time they were here,” he boomed, “unless those prancing imps of the Major's have

vert to the habit of his ancestors and

roost, in a supperless manner unbefit ting the imperial tyrant that he was —in a tree.

For the fact that Uncle Noah had

run away with the sleigh.

It's my

opinion the Northern express is late again—must be! 'Pon my word,

Patricia, my dear,” he added, turning

Copyright, 1914, by McBRIDE, Nast & Co. All rights reserved.