It was on Christmas Eve, you remember, he came to
tell us. The house was dressed in evergreens, and Uncle Patrick was making
punch."
"Poor Patrick was a hard drinker," sighed Miss Lydia; "but he was a citizen
of the world, my dear."
"Yes, yes, I perfectly recall the evening," said the Governor,
thoughtfully. "The young people were just forming for a reel and you and I
were of them, my dear,--it was the year, I remember, that the mistletoe was
brought home in a cart,--when the door opened and in came the Major. 'Jane
has run away with that dirty scamp Montjoy,' he said, and was out again and
on his horse before we caught the words. He rode like a madman that night.
I can see him now, splashing through the mud with Big Abel after him."
Betty came running in with smiling eyes, and fluttered into her seat. "I
got here before the waffles," she cried. "Mammy said I wouldn't. Uncle
Shadrach, I got here before you!"
"Dat's so, honey," responded Uncle Shadrach from behind the Governor's
chair. He was so like his master--commanding port, elaborate shirt-front,
and high white stock--that the Major, in a moment of merry-making, had once
dubbed him "the Governor's silhouette."
"Say your grace, dear," remonstrated Miss Lydia, as the child shook out her
napkin. "It's always proper to offer thanks standing, you know. I remember
your great-grandmother telling me that once when she dined at the White
House, when her father was in Congress, the President forgot to say grace,
and made them all get up again after they were seated.
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