Solomon 'Zekiel coolly ignored the fact that the steamboat landing was five miles away, and that he had trudged through the biting cold and the snow, in his poor rags and broken shoes, all that distance--and he was a very little fellow indeed.
"Have you had anything to eat since breakfast?" asked Betty, with melting eyes.
"Naw, 'm," promptly answered Solomon 'Zekiel.
"And this is Christmas Eve!" cried Betty. "Now Aunt Tulip will take you into the kitchen and give you a good supper, Solomon 'Zekiel--oh, I can't stand all that name--you are as black as the kettle, so we'll just call you Kettle for the present."
His new name and the prospect of supper seemed to delight the little negro beyond words.
By that time Uncle Cesar had driven the rockaway up to the door, and the Colonel was handing Betty in and muffling her up, as one muffles up his chief and only treasure. Aunt Tulip brought out Uncle Cesar's fiddle-case with his fiddle, for Uncle Cesar was an essential person in that neighborhood, on account of his expert fiddling. Old Whitey, a big, handsome horse, was dancing about in a manner so sprightly, in spite of his thirteen years, that Betty felt certain he would make a good appearance at the Christmas hunt.
It was not much after seven o'clock, but early hours are kept in the country, and there was a six-mile drive between Holly Lodge and Marrowbone. Betty enjoyed the drive, inhaling the icy, crisp night air as if it were champagne. Old Whitey did the six miles in less than an hour, and Betty was in the thick of the arrivals for the party. The hospitable host, Major Lindsay--for there were many majors and colonels in Virginia in those days--met his guests on the great portico, with the big wooden Doric columns.
"How do you do, Miss Betty?" Major Lindsay said. "And where is the Colonel, pray?"
"Granddaddy sent his compliments and regrets, but he says he is really too rheumatic to go out to dances," answered Betty, slipping out of the rockaway.
"Nonsense, nonsense!" shouted the Major, who was big and florid and handsome. "The Colonel is as able to shake a leg as ever he was, by George! I hope Cesar has brought the fiddle, because we are reckoning upon him."
"Yes, sirree," answered Uncle Cesar, with important emphasis. "I got some rheumatiz, too, same like ole Marse, but mine is in my legs, thank God A'mighty, and ain't tech my bow arm yet, praise the Lamb!"