“Get out! you know a wheelbarrow full,” returned Nat.
“And she can sing even as sweetly as a barley bird (a nightingale),” said the farmer.
There was no getting out of it—so Kitty tried to do her best.
“Very prettily sung, my gell,” said Ashbrook when she concluded. “Now for the dance—it will be bull’s noon (midnight) else before we begin. The Harvest Lord and the Lady of the Lamb lead off. What’s it to be, Joe?”
“‘Speed the Plough’s’ my sort, sir,” said Joe, touching his cap; “it’s one of the best country dances we have.”
“I quite agree with you, Joe—it is,” said the farmer. “Now, fiddlers, strike up for ‘Speed the Plough.’”
The musicians tuned their instruments, ran over the first few bars, and were satisfied that they were up to the mark, and then dashed off.
“Speed the Plough” was danced through and played through as country people dance and as country fiddlers play.
As far as vigour was concerned there was no reason to complain. The farmer stopped the dance out, and then left them entirely to their own devices.
This was turned to profit by the fiddlers, who had been secretly paid by him. Disguising this fact, they sent one round with a tambourine, as they were wont to do in public-houses.