After all the fellow was not without some redeeming trait, for he made a clean breast of it.  “It is dis way,” he began remorsefully, “when I’m tak de job for cook to-day I’m tink, for sure, I know de way for do it.  De reason I get idea like dat, is this way:  When I’m be little boy and sit in de kitchen and see my mudder bake de bread, and boil de puddin’, and rost de meat, I’m say to myself, many time, ’Ovide, you can do little easy ting like dat, just so well as she can.’  I’m ax my mudder, too, many time to let me try and mak de dinner, but she laugh loud and say, ’Ovide, you just lak all de boys and lots of men too, for dey all tink dat it’s just so easy for de woman to cook de food as it is for dem to eat it.’  And den she laugh some more, and say dat all de men tink dat what de womans do is noting at all.”

As he paused, I had no small difficulty in preserving the severity of my countenance, owing to certain recollections of thoughts I had indulged in when a boy—­and, I must admit, a pretty big one, too—­when I had sat and watched my mother cook.  From the way Fielding, at the other end of the car, put his hands into his pockets, I got the impression that conscience was hard at work with him, too.

“Even after I’m be away from home all dese years,” continued Ovide, “I’m still have dat feeling dat I can cook just so well as she can; and so when I’m come into de car to-day and hear Mr. Fielding say dat he want cook, and say dat he will give a souvenir, and when I’m see, too, dat engine-driver man Robbin, dare, dat I’m not lak at all, and who I tink not know how for cook and yet going for get de job—­I’m just tink dat a good chance she’s come for me to please de bosses and make somethin’ good for myself, and so I’m come straight out, and say I’m de best man for de job.  And dat’s all de truth.”

He had been slowly edging his way to the passage leading to the door, and as he reached it he continued regretfully, “If I’m only not forget to freeze out dat turkey before I’m put her in de oven, and tink too not to put nearly cupful bakin’ powder in de puddin’, everyting she’s be all right den, sure.”  As he concluded he turned abruptly down the passage, and fled out of our car into the baggage-car, with Robbins’ rasping cough in his ears.

* * * * *

Half an hour later, thanks to old Robbins’ skill, we sat down to fried turkey, boiled potatoes, bread and butter, and tea.

The great French-Canadian cook gladly ate his portion of the banquet in the baggage-car, for no amount of persuasion could make him come to the table with us.

Twelve hours later we reached our homes.

On New Year’s Day, a bulky blue envelope was handed to Ovide.  As it bore the stamp of the General Manager’s office, he opened it with fear and trembling, for he was sure that it contained his dismissal.  I shall not attempt to describe his gratification when he found it contained a handsome silver watch, on the inside of which was neatly engraved a belligerent-looking turkey.  The note from Fielding, accompanying the gift, read as follows:  “May the souvenir bring as many pleasant memories to the receiver as the memory of Christmas Day, 1879, is sure to bring the donor.”