All this time the young stranger had paused in tuning his violin, but when uncle Nat drew a deep breath, after repairing the mischief already done, out came a gush of music that made him start again, and threw the strong-minded woman into a fit of excitement, quite startling. She seized uncle Nat's moist hand and unconsciously—it must have been unconsciously—pressed it in her wiry fingers.
"Music! Did you ever hear such music, uncle Nathan! It's enough to set one off a-dancing."
"Well, why not?" answered uncle Nathan.
"Yes, why not?" replied the strong-minded one, "if the other young people dance, why shouldn't we?"
"Of course," said uncle Nat, wiping his hands on the roller towel.
"Why not? I shouldn't wonder if we astonish these youngsters."
"And aunt Hannah, too," chimed in Salina.
"Oh! I'd forgot her," said uncle Nat, looking wistfully toward the milk-room door, "I'm afraid it won't do, she'll think—but here they come, like a flock of blackbirds!"
True enough, the first full notes of the violin had drawn the crowd of girls from the chamber overhead, and down they came, laughing and racing through the kitchen, perfectly wild with delight.
"Uncle Nat, dear, dear, uncle Nat, is it really a violin? Will aunt Hannah let us dance to anything but singing?" cried a dozen voices; and uncle Nathan was at once surrounded by a rainbow of streaming ribbons and floating ringlets, while a host of merry eyes flashed their delight upon him.
"I don't know—I can't take it on myself to say," cried uncle Nathan, quite beside himself, "you must ask some one else. I haven't any objection in life"—