“Git them triflin’ niggers stirrin’, anyways,” said Hannah. “Get the mugs for the children, Hannah, and tell ’Relia to get herself upstairs to help the young ladies. And I want every bed made up right away.” Hannah said, “Yas’m.” She loved ordering the other maids around, being middle-aged, faithful and privileged. Breakfast was a gay and noisy meal. Emily was happy with a new gold chain and locket, kissing everybody impartially as she danced around the table. Rachel had a pearl brooch with a small blue stone in the center and yards of white satin for caps and collars. One little boy pushed his toy monkey around the table, perched it on people’s shoulders till Andrew, Junior, said impatiently, “Oh, quit it, boy!” “What are you so excited about?” the General asked Emily, when he had followed her into the parlor. “Why, uncle Jackson, it’s Christmas! And my lovely locket. You shouldn’t have given me anything so fine. I’ll put a lock of your hair in it.” “Put some young fellow’s hair in it—the right fellow, mind you! And were you looking down that road to see if Christmas was coming?” “Oh, no. Just more company. Aunt Rachel says there should be ten more. Thank goodness the rain stopped.” “Froze a little.” He took his pipe from the mantel, and the deep tobacco jar. “Kill hogs next week if the cold weather holds. Emily, get your aunt out of that dining room. Make her rest if you can.” “I’ll try, but you know aunt Rachel. She won’t believe the Christmas dinner is fit to eat unless she has dipped a spoon in every dish. I promised to oversee setting the tables as soon as the girls have cleared away. They’re all excited and they’ll get all the forks crooked.” “In some ways it will be good for Rachel to get away for a while,” he mused, half to himself, as he lifted the coal from the fire. “Away—where?” Emily stiffened. “Why, I shall have to return to the Senate, my dear. Have you forgotten that I have been elected United States Senator from Tennessee? Of course, when I go back I shall want my wife to go with me.” “Uncle Jackson, Jack wrote me—” “And what,” he interrupted, “did Mister Andrew Jackson Donelson write to you?” _That he loved me_ leaped like a lovely tongue of fairy flame into her mind. She blinked very fast to keep uncle Jackson from reading it in her eyes. “He said something about circumstances—about a ground swell in Kentucky—he was rather vague—”