But before the dog could bring the coon to the bank, Mr. Snelson uttered a paralyzing shriek and ran for the water. Harbert tried to hold him back. “Ouch! loose me! loose me! I'll brain ye if ye don't loose me!” Shaking Harbert off, the printer ran to the edge of the lagoon, and soused his hand and arm in the water. In his excitement he had held the torch straight over his head, and the hot pitch from the fat pine had run on his hand and down his sleeve. “Look at me!” he exclaimed, as they went slowly homeward. “Just look at me! The poor wife'll have to doctor me body an' darn me clothes, an' they're all I've got to me name. If ye'll stand by me, Joe,” he went on pathetically, “I'll do your worruk meself, but ye shall have two afternoons next week.” And Joe Maxwell “stood by” Mr. Snelson the best he could. CHAPTER VIII--SOMETHING ABOUT “SANDY-CLAUS” Harbert's house on the Turner place was not far from the kitchen, and the kitchen itself was only a few feet removed from the big house; in fact, there was a covered passageway between them. From the back steps of the kitchen two pieces of hewn timber, half buried in the soil, led to Harbert's steps, thus forming, as the negro called it, a wet-weather path, over which Mr. Turner's children could run when the rest of the yard had been made muddy by the fall and winter rains. Harbert's house had two rooms and two fireplaces. One of the rooms was set apart for him and his wife, while the other was used as a weaving-room. In one Harbert used to sit at night and amuse the children with his reminiscences and his stories; in the other Aunt Crissy used to weave all day and sing, keeping time with the flying shuttle and the dancing slays. The children might tire of their toys, their ponies, and everything else, but they could always find something to interest them in Harbert's house. There were few nights, especially during the winter, that did not find them seated by the negro's white hearthstone. On special occasions they could hardly wait to finish supper before going out to see him. Sometimes they found Aunt Crissy there, and as she was fat and good-humored--not to say jolly--she was always a welcome guest, so far as the children were concerned. As for Harbert, it was all one to him whether Aunt Crissy was present or not. To use his own sententious phrase, she was welcome to come or she was welcome to stay away. Frequently Joe Maxwell would go and sit there with them, especially when he was feeling lonely and homesick. One evening, in the early part of December, the children hurried through their supper of bread and butter and milk, and ran to Harbert's house. Aunt Crissy was there, and her fat face and white teeth shone in the firelight as she sat smiling at the youngsters. “I done got Chris'mas in my bones,” she was saying, as Wattie and Willie entered.