“I'se done stuff 'im full,” returned Aunt Rhody, in justification. “I hope he's well done, Rhody,” briskly broke in Mrs. Lightfoot; “and be sure to bake the hams until the juice runs through the bread crumbs. Is everything ready for to-morrow?” “Des es ready es ef 'twuz fer Kingdom Come, Ole Miss, en dar ain' gwine be no better dinner on Jedgment Day nurr, I don' cyar who gwine cook hit. You des tase dis yer sass--dat's all I ax, you des tase dis yer sass.” “You taste it, Betty,” begged Mrs. Lightfoot, shrinking from the approaching spoon; and Betty tasted and pronounced it excellent, “and there never was an Ambler who wasn't a judge of 'sass,” she added. Moved by the compliment, Aunt Rhody fell back and regarded the girl, with her arms akimbo. “I d'clar, her eyes do des shoot fire,” she exclaimed admiringly. “I dunno whar de beaux done hid deyse'ves dese days; hit's a wonner dey ain' des a-busin' dey sides ter git yer. Marse Dan, now, whynt he come a-prancin' roun' dese yer parts?” Mrs. Lightfoot looked at Betty and saw her colour rise. “That will do, Rhody,” she cautioned; “you will let the turkeys burn,” but as they moved toward the door, Betty herself paused and looked back. “I gave your Christmas gift to Uncle Cupid, Aunt Rhody,” she said; “he put it under the joists in your cabin, so you mustn't look at it till morning.” “Lawd, chile, I'se done got Christmas gifts afo' now,” replied Aunt Rhody, ungratefully, “en I'se done got a pa'cel er no count ones, too. Folks dey give Christmas gifts same es de Lawd he give chillun--dey des han's out w'at dey's got on dey han's, wid no stiddyin' 'bout de tase. Sakes er live! Ef'n de Lawd hadn't hed a plum sight ter git rid er, he 'ouldn't er sont Ca'line all dose driblets, fo' he'd done sont 'er a husban'.” “Husban', huh!” exclaimed Ca'line, with a snort from the fireplace. “Husban' yo'se'f! No mo' niggerisms fer me, ma'am!” “Hold your tongue, Ca'line,” said Mrs. Lightfoot, sternly; “and, Rhody, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk so before your Miss Betty.” “Husban', huh!” repeated the indignant Ca'line, under her breath. “Hold your tongues, both of you,” cried the old lady, as she lifted her silk skirt in both hands and swept from the kitchen. When they reached the house again, they heard the Major's voice, on its highest key, demanding: “Molly! Why, bless my soul, what's become of Molly?” He was calling from the front steps, and the sound of tramping feet rang in the drive below. Against the whiteness of the storm Big Abel's face shone in the light from the open door, and about him, as he held the horses, Dan and Champe and a guest or two were dismounting upon the steps. As the old lady went forward, Champe rushed into the hall, and caught her in his arms. “On my word, you're so young I didn't know you,” he cried gayly. “If you keep this up, Aunt Molly, there'll be a second Lightfoot beauty yet. You grow prettier every day--I declare you do!”