"A dance!" cried the boys; "then we are going too. It is Christmas night, and we know how to dance. See here." And they sprang out into the centre of the room, and began a figure, not without a certain wild grace of its own, keeping time to the shrill whistling of Gabriel, who was the fifer and leader of the band.
Miss Lois put down her knitting, and disapproved, for the old training was still strong in her; then she remembered that these were things of the past, shook her head at herself, sighed, and resumed it again.
"Of course you will go," said the visitor.
"I do not know that I can go, Rast," replied Anne, turning toward her father, as if to see what he thought.
"Yes, go," said Douglas—"go, Annet." He hardly ever used this name, which the children had given to their elder sister—a name that was not the French "Annette," but, like the rest of the island patois, a mispronunciation—"An´net," with the accent on the first syllable. "It is Christmas night," said Douglas, with a faint interest on his faded face; "I should like it to be a pleasant recollection for you, Annet."
The young girl went to him; he kissed her, and then rose to go to his study; but Tita's eyes held him, and he paused.
"Will you go, Miss Lois?" said Anne.
"Oh no, child," replied the old maid, primly, adjusting her spectacles.
"But you must go, Miss Lois, and dance with me," said Rast, springing up and seizing her hands.
"Fie, Erastus! for shame! Let me go," said Miss Lois, as he tried to draw her to her feet. He still bent over her, but she tapped his cheek with her knitting-needles, and told him to sit down and behave himself.