"Nor I," said Salina, "and that's two agin one, if Miss Hannah does stand out. Come, I'll go with you. We'll say that I, and all the other young girls, have just made up our mouths to dance after a fiddle, and we mean to, that's all."
"Stop, stop a minute!" exclaimed uncle Nathan, spreading his hands, "maybe you'd better say nothing about it, but just go into the barn and begin. If sister Hannah has got a conscience agin dancing to a fiddle, you know, it ain't worth while to wake it up; but there's more ways of getting into a lot than by taking down the bars. Jest climb the fence, that's all."
How uncle Nathan ever came to give this worldly piece of advice is still a mystery. Some insinuated that the cider had sent its sparkles to his brain, and others thought the music had aroused some sleeping mischief there. Perhaps it was both. Perhaps too the bright eyes and ripe laughter around him had something to do with the matter.
At any rate the advice was too pleasant not to be taken. A telegraphic signal brought the young men from the out-room, and off the company fluttered in pairs toward the barn making the starlight melodious with their laughter.
CHAPTER XLIII.
A DANCE AFTER HUSKING
Merrily—merrily went the night
The laugh rang out
And a gleeful shout,
Shook the autumn leaves in that starry light.
In their haste the young people had left the strange youth seated in the chair, in a dark end of the porch.
"Come," said uncle Nat, in his kindly fashion, "you and I will follow them."
"Thank you;" said the youth, rising, "it has been a long ride, and I was growing weary."