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And when my grandfather and the ladies and gentlemen, his guests, came down the curving stairs, there were the broadly smiling servants drawn up in the wide hall, all who could gather there, and the rest on the lawn outside, to wish "Merry Chris'mas" to "de quality."
I might go up, may be, as far as your father's, merely to see the family, only for the night that's in it; but I'm goin' to another frind's place to spind my Chris'mas, an' over an' above, I must go to the Midnight Mass. Frank, change your coorses, an' mend your life, an' don't be the talk o' the parish. Remimber me to the family, an' say I'll see them soon."
I wuz born plantin' corn time, de spring arfter big Jim an' de six steers got washed away at de upper ford right down dyar blow de quarters ez he wuz a-bringin' de Chris'mas things home; an' Marse Chan, he warn' born tell mos' to de harves' arfter my sister Nancy married Cun'l Chahmb'lin's Torm, 'bout eight years arfterwoods.
Little Biddy was careening round and round, crying out: "To-morrow's Chris'mas! Santa Claus is coming tonight." Matthew was regarding her indulgently, sympathetically, Moreton rather scornfully. The myth had been exploded for both, but Matthew still hugged it. That was the difference between them. Maude, seated on the floor, perceived me first, and glanced up at me with a smile.
Nobody wouldn't ha' cared. You aren't wanted here. Why don't you strike for liberty, my lad, and go and make your fortun' in furren parts?" "Same as you have, Mike Bannock? Now just you look ye here. If ever I hears you trying to make Master Don unsettled again, and setting him agen his work, I tells Mr Chris'mas, and no begging won't get you back on again. Fortun' indeed!
"How are ye, gentlemen?" says stout John Myers, the "obeshay," which is negro for "overseer." "I say, there! you Cuffee, that basket ain't half full o' corn. I s'pose you're goin' to clean out all the game by Chris'mas? You Cæsar, why don't you fill up old Chester's stall with trash?
'An' ivry two or three nights whin I come home, he says, 'I have to win a fight again' a cook with a stove lid befure I can move me family off th' fr-ront stoop, he says. 'We threat thim well too, he says. 'I gave th' las' wan we had fifty cints an' a cook book at Chris'mas an' th' next day she left befure breakfast, he says.
I'm goin' t' give 'em away; I'm goin' to make a Chris'mas present of 'em to Shaver. They're goin' to be little Shaver's right here, all orderly an' peace'ble, or I'll tromp on 'em! Looky here, Shaver, wot Santy Claus brought ye!" "Nice dood Sant' Claus!" cried Billie, diving under the davenport in quest of the wandering chicks. Silence held the grown-ups.
Humpy crumpled up in his chair at this new evidence of The Hopper's insanity. "I'm goin' to make a Chris'mas present o' Shaver to his ma," reaffirmed The Hopper, pinching the nearer ruddy cheek of the merry, contented guest. Shaver kicked The Hopper in the stomach and emitted a chortle expressive of unshakable confidence in The Hopper's ability to restore him to his lawful owners.
I saw dree ships come sailin' by, A-sailin' by, a-sailin' by, I saw dree ships come sailin' by On Chris'mas day i' the mornin'. Now who shud be i' these dree ships And to this measure Zeb and Ruby stepped home. At the cottage door Zeb thanked the singers, who went their way and flung back shouts and joyful wishes as they went.
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