"Why——" she flushed daintily. "That's grandad's wife."
"Then she's your grandmother."
"Oh, no, she isn't. You see the other wife died; she was father's mother and he married Norah. We all call her Norry."
"She doesn't look old enough to be any one's grandmother. And isn't she gay? She has such a merry face, pretty too."
"And she sings such gay songs. She knows all about the fairies, too, and she's seen them at home, that's Ireland. Why don't they come to America?"
"Maybe the witches drive them away. Witches are just awful! Come; let us try again."
He placed his arm around her and they whirled off to the fascinating music. Is there anything like a fiddle to put the spirit of delight in one's feet? Other couples were floating round or doing jigs with fancy steps and laughter. Now and then a bright, mirthful young lad ran off with some girl and left the first partner in the lurch, at which there was a shout.
"Oh, I wish you were my sister! Wouldn't we have fun! I have only one brother, Archie, and he's stupid as an owl—well, I mean he hasn't any fun in him, and he'd dance about like a cow. Oh, there's your—well, it would be queer to call her grandmother."
"I wondered where you were, Daffodil. Isn't this Ned Langdale? I know your mother. Dilly, I think I had better take you home. I promised your mother I wouldn't keep you very long."