"Oh, I want your help in getting it up, Mr. Strong," Miss Pringle explained.
"Why, Miss Pringle," he said rather anxiously, "I'm a newcomer. I don't want to put myself forward and act officiously. It might make a bad impression on the minds of the neighbors."
"What nonsense!" cried the lively spinster. "They all like you—of course they do!"
"Not Adam Banks," suggested Hiram, with one of his quick smiles that always made his rather plain face more attractive.
"My goodness! I should hope not," exclaimed Miss Pringle. "If he did I certainly wouldn't."
"And I think Terry Crane is getting to dislike me, too," added Hiram speaking of the man whom he had put into the burned-over patch of woodland to chop down trees. "I understand that Crane's wife thinks I'm quite a terrible fellow because I make her washing so hard."
Miss Pringle laughed. "It would be a good thing, I should think, if these folks got together and learned more about you, Mr. Strong—got really to know you and how nice you are," and her smile would—when he first knew her—have made Hiram blush to the very tips of his ears.
"You flatter me, Miss Pringle," was what he said. "And I don't believe I would know how to go about getting up a dance."
"Oh, that's all right. You leave that to me," she said promptly. "What I want of you, Mr. Strong, is to get Mr. Bronson to let us dance on his floor."
"Dance on his floor?" repeated Hiram. "At Plympton?"