The day was snapping cold, and just a fortnight before Christmas eve. There had been a heavy storm of wind and sleet the night before, and the negroes of Canewood, headed by Bob and Uncle Ephraim, were searching the woods for the biggest fallen oak they could find. The frozen grass was strewn with wrenched limbs, and here and there was an ash or a sugar-tree splintered and prostrate, but wily Uncle Ephraim was looking for a yule-log that would burn slowly and burn long; for as long as the log burned, just that long lasted the holiday of every darky on the place. So the search was careful, and lasted till a yell rose from Bob under a cliff by the side of the creek--a yell of triumph that sent the negroes in a rush toward him. Bob stood on the torn and twisted roots of a great oak that wind and ice had tugged from its creek-washed roots and stretched parallel with the water--every tooth showing delight in his find. With the cries and laughter of children, two boys sprang upon the tree with axes, but Bob waved them back. "Go back an' git dat cross-cut saw!" he said. Bob, as ex-warrior, took precedence even of his elders now. "Fool niggers don't seem to know dar'll be mo' wood to burn if we don't waste de chips!" The wisdom of this was clear, and, in a few minutes, the long-toothed saw was singing through the tough bark of the old monarch--a darky at each end of it, the tip of his tongue in the corner of his mouth, the muscles of each powerful arm playing like cords of elastic steel under its black skin--the sawyers, each time with a mighty grunt, drew the shining, whistling blade to and fro to the handle. Presently they began to sing--improvising: Pull him t'roo! (grunt) Yes, man. Pull him t'roo--huh! Saw him to de heart. Gwine to have Christmas. Yes, man! Gwine to have Christmas. Yes, man! Gwine to have Christmas Long as he can bu'n. Burn long, log! Yes, log! Burn long, log! Yes, log, Heah me, log, burn long! Gib dis nigger Christmas. Yes, Lawd, long Christmas! Gib dis nigger Christmas. O log, burn long! And the saw sang with them in perfect time, spitting out the black, moist dust joyously--sang with them and without a breath for rest; for as two pair of arms tired, another fresh pair of sinewy hands grasped the handles. In an hour the whistle of the saw began to rise in key higher and higher, and as the men slowed up carefully, it gave a little high squeak of triumph, and with a "kerchunk" dropped to the ground. With more cries and laughter, two men rushed for fence-rails to be used as levers. There was a chorus now: Soak him in de water, Up, now! Soak him in de water, Up, now! O Lawd, soak long!