He _professed_ to be fishing for crawfish--as if crawfish ever bit on a hook or ate corn! Still, it eased his conscience, for he did try to set his grandson a Christian example consistent with his precepts. It was Christmas Eve, and the boy felt a sort of moral responsibility in the matter of providing a suitable Christmas dinner for the morrow. His question as to what the old man would like to have had elicited the enthusiastic bit of reminiscence with which this story opens. Here was a poser! His grandfather had described just the identical kind of dinner which he felt powerless to procure. If he had said oysters, or chicken, or even turkey, Duke thought he could have managed it; but a pan of rich fragments was simply out of the question. "Wouldn't you des as lief have a pone o' hot egg-bread, gran'dad, an'--an'--an' maybe a nice baked chicken--ur--ur a--" "Ur a nothin', boy! Don't talk to me! I'd a heap'd ruther have a secon'-han' white Christmas dinner 'n de bes' fus'-han' nigger one you ever seed, an' I ain't no spring-chicken, nuther. I done had 'spe'unce o' Christmas dinners. An' what you talkin' 'bout, anyhow? Whar you gwine git roas' chicken, nigger?" "I don' know, less'n I'd meck a heap o' money to-day; but I could sho' git a whole chicken ter roas' easier'n I could git dat pan full o' goodies _you's_ a-talkin' 'bout. "Is you gwine crawfishin' to-day, gran'daddy?" he continued, cautiously, rolling his eyes. "'Caze when I cross de road, terreckly, I gwine shoo off some o' dem big fat hens dat scratches up so much dus'. Dey des a puffec' nuisance, scratchin' dus' clean inter my eyes ev'y time I go down de road." "Dey is, is dey? De nasty, impident things! You better not shoo none of 'em over heah, less'n you want me ter wring dey necks--which I boun' ter do ef dey pester my crawfish-lines." "Well, I'm gwine now, gran'dad. Ev'ything is done did an' set whar you kin reach--I gwine down de road an' shoo dem sassy chickens away. Dis here bucket o' brick-dus' sho' is heavy," he added, as he lifted to his head a huge pail. Starting out, he gathered up a few grains of corn, dropping them along in his wake until he reached the open where the chickens were; when, making a circuit round them, he drove them slowly until he saw them begin to pick up the corn. Then he turned, whistling as he went, into a side street, and proceeded on his way. Old Mose chuckled audibly as Duke passed out, and, baiting his lines with corn and scraps of meat, he lifted the bit of broken plank from the floor, and set about his day's sport. "Now, Mr. Chicken, I'm settin' deze heah lines fur crawfish, an' ef you smarties come a-foolin' round 'em, I gwine punish you 'cordin' ter de law. You heah me!" He chuckled as he thus presented his defence anew before the bar of his own conscience. But the chickens did not bite to-day--not a mother's son or daughter of them--though they ventured cautiously to the very edge of the cabin.