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“Hol’ up yo’ face an’ don’t cry, boy. I been a mighty poor mammy ter yer, but I blesses Gord to-night fur savin’ dat little black baby ter me– all in de win’ an’ de storm an’ de dark dat night.

“You see, yo’ daddy, he was out wid de gang wuckin’ de levee crost de river–an’ dat’s huccome yo’ ma was ‘feerd ter stay by ‘erse’f an’ sont fur me.

“Well, baby, when I knowed yo’ mammy was gone, I helt you tight an’ prayed. An’ after a while–seem lak a million hours–come a pale streak o’ day, an’ ‘fo’ de sun was up, heah come a steamboat puffin’ down de river, an’ treckly hit blowed a whistle an’ ringed a bell an’ stop an’ took us on boa’d, an’ brung us on down heah ter de city.”

“An’ you never seed my mammy no mo’, gran’dad?” Little Duke’s lips quivered just a little.

“Yo’ mammy was safe at Home in de Golden City, Juke, long ‘fore we teched even de low lan’ o’ dis yearth.

“An’ dat’s how we got los’ f’om we’s white folks.

“An’ time we struck de city I was so twis’ up wid rheumatiz I lay fur six munts in de Cha’ity Hospit’l; an’ you bein’ so puny, cuttin’ yo’ toofs, dey kep’ you right along in de baby-ward tell I was able to start out. An’ sence I stepped out o’ dat hospit’l do’ wid yo’ little bow-legs trottin’ by me, so I been goin’ ever sence. Days I’d go out sawin’ wood, I’d set you on de wood-pile by me; an’ when de cook ‘d slip me out a plate o’ soup, I’d ax fur two spoons. An’ so you an’ me, we been pardners right along, an’ I wouldn’t swap pardners wid nobody –you heah, Juke? Dis here’s Christmas, an’ I’m talkin’ ter yer.”

Duke looked so serious that a feather’s weight would have tipped the balance and made him cry; but he only blinked.

“An’ it’s gittin’ late now, pardner,” the old man continued, “an’ you better be gwine–less’n you ‘feerd? Ef you is, des sesso now, an’ we’ll meck out wid de col’ victuals in de press.”

“Who’s afeerd, gran’dad?” Duke’s face had broken into a broad grin now, and he was cracking his whip again.

“Don’t eat no supper tell I come,” he added, as he started out into the night. But as he turned down the street he muttered to himself:

“I wouldn’t keer, ef all dem sassy boys didn’t pleg me–say I ain’t got no mammy–ur daddy–ur nothin’. But dey won’t say it ter me ag’in, not whiles I got dis whup in my han’! She sting lak a rattlesnake, she do! She’s a daisy an’ a half! Cher-whack! You gwine sass me any mo’, you grea’ big over-my-size coward, you? Take dat! An’ dat! An’ dat! Now run! Whoop! Heah come de red light!”

So, in fancy avenging his little wrongs, Duke recovered his spirits and proceeded to catch on behind the Prytania car, that was to help him on his way to get his second-hand Christmas dinner.

His benefactress had not forgotten her promise; and, in addition to a heavy pan of scraps, Duke took home, almost staggering beneath its weight, a huge, compact bundle.

Old Mose was snoring vociferously when he reached the cabin. Depositing his parcel, the little fellow lit a candle, which he placed beside the sleeper; then uncovering the pan, he laid it gently upon his lap. And now, seizing a spoon and tin cup, he banged it with all his might.

“Heah de plantation-bell! Come git yo’ Christmas-gif’s!”

And when his grandfather sprang up, nearly upsetting the pan in his fright, Duke rolled backward on the floor, screaming with laughter.

“I ‘clare, Juke, boy,” said Mose, when he found voice, “I wouldn’t ‘a’ jumped so, but yo’ foolishness des fitted inter my dream. I was dreamin’ o’ ole times, an’ des when I come ter de ringin’ o’ de plantation-bell, I heerd cherplang ! An’ it nachelly riz me off’n my foots. What’s dis heah? Did you git de dinner, sho’ ‘nough?”