hatever was
wanted--my Aunt Gary was in a mood to refuse me nothing then--and
Maria went anew about the business of beating and mixing and
compounding.

There was great enjoyment in the kitchen. It was a time of high
festival, what with me and the egg supper. Merriment and jocularity, a
little tide-wave of social excitement, swelled and broke on all sides
of me; making a soft ripply play of fun and repartee, difficult to
describe, and which touched me as much as it amused. It was very
unlike the enjoyment of a set of white people holding the same social
and intellectual grade. It was the manifestation of another race, less
coarse and animal in their original nature, more sensitive and more
demonstrative, with a strange touch of the luxurious and refined for
a people whose life has had nothing to do with luxury, and whom
refinement leaves on one side as quite beyond its sphere. But blood is
a strange thing; and Ham's children will show luxurious and aesthetic
tastes, take them where you will.

"Chillen, I hope you's enjoyed your supper," Maria said, when the last
lingering drops had been secured, and mugs and glasses were coming
back to the kitchen table.

Words and smiles answered her. "We's had a splendid time, Aunt Maria,"
said one young man as he set down his glass. He was a worker in the
garden.

"Den I hope's we's all willin' to gib de Lord t'anks for His goodness.
Dere ain't a night in de year when it's so proper to gib de Lord
t'anks, as it be dis precious night."

"It's to-morrow night, Aunt Maria," said Pete. "To-morrow's Christmas
night."

"I don't care! One night's jus' as good as another, you Pete. And now
we's all together, you see, and comfortable together; and I feel like
giving t'anks, I do, to de Lord, for all His mercies."

"What's Christmas, anyhow?" asked another.

"It's jus' de crown o' all the nights in de year. You Solomon, it's a
night dat dey keeps up in heaven. You know nothin' about it, you poor
critter. I done believe you never hearn no one tell about it. Maybe
Miss Daisy wouldn't read us de story, and de angels, and de shepherds,
and dat great light what come down, and make us feel good for
Christmas; and Uncle Darry, he'll t'ank de Lord."

The last words were put in a half-questioning form to me, rather
taking for granted that I would readily do what was requested. And
hardly anything in the world, I suppose, could have given me such
deep gratification at the moment. Margaret w