important instrument in the plantation string-band than this same old
banjo.

As he turned backward to wake little Tim he hesitated a moment, looking
lovingly upon the little sleeping figure, which the moon now covered
with a white rectangle of light. As his eyes rested upon the boy's face
something, a confused memory of his last waking anxiety perhaps,
brought a slight quiver to his lips, as if he might cry in his sleep,
while he muttered the word "gran'dad."

Old Uncle Tim had been trying to get himself to the point of doing
something which it was somehow hard to do, but this tremulous lisping of
his own name settled the question.

Hobbling to his feet, he wended his way as noiselessly as possible to
where the banjo hung, and, carrying it to the sleeping boy, laid it
gently, with trembling fingers, upon his arm.

Then, first silently regarding him a moment, he called out, "Weck up,
Tim, my man! Weck up!"

As he spoke, a loud and continuous explosion of fire-crackers--the
opening of active festivities in the campus--startled the boy quite out
of his nap.

He was frightened and dazed for a minute, and then, seeing the banjo
beside him and his grandfather's face so near, he exclaimed: "What's all
dis, gran'dad? Whar me?"

The old man's voice was pretty husky as he answered: "You right heah wid
me, boy, an' dat banjo, hit's yo' Christmas gif', honey."

Little Tim cast an agonized look upon the old man's face, and threw
himself into his arms. "Is you gwine die now, gran'dad?" he sobbed,
burying his face upon his bosom.

Old Tim could not find voice at once, but presently he chuckled,
nervously: "Humh! humh! No, boy, I ain't gwine die yit--not till my time
comes, please Gord. But dis heah's Christmas, honey, an' I thought I'd
gi'e you de ole banjo whiles I was living so's I could--so's you
could--so's we could have pleasure out'n 'er bofe together, yer know,
honey. Dat is, f'om dis time on she's _yo' banjo_, an' when I wants ter
play on 'er, you _can loan 'er ter me_."

"An'--an' you--you _sho'_ you ain't gwine die, gran'dad?"

"I ain't sho' o' nothin', honey, but I 'ain't got no _notion_ o'
dyin'--not to-night. We gwine ter de dance now, you an' me, an' I gwine
play de banjo--_dat is ef you'll loan 'er ter me, baby_."

Tim wanted to laugh, and it seemed sheer contrariness for him to cry,
but somehow the tears would come, and the lump in his throat, and try
hard as he might, he couldn't get his head higher