My mother looked up. The tears which she had suppressed still sparkled on her curling eyelashes.
“I do not want money,” she said; “I have done nothing to earn it.”
“And why did you not dance with the rest?”
“I don’t know. It seems to me now that I never have danced like them, and yet, I tried to begin that very dance—tried and could not.”
The blush again burned on her face. She made a movement as if to cover it with her hands, and desisted, ashamed of her new-born modesty.
“And why could you not dance for me as you have for others?”
“I do not know.”
“You have already earned money enough?”
“I have an old grandmother who has not tasted food to-day. She is waiting in patient hunger till I shall bring money from the woods to purchase it. My companions will carry food to their parents—mine must wait.”
“See, I have driven these people away. They did not please me, but you shall give me a dance while they are busy. Here is a piece of good English gold, which will supply your grandame with food during the next fortnight.”