"Mr. Frog, he went a-courtin',
A-hung—a-hung.
Mr. Frog, he went a-courtin',
Sword an' pistol by his side,
A-hung—a-hung."
The excited collie barked and whined, but Ann went on, absorbed in the joy of motion, a bit of the cake-walk with its suggestion of abandon carrying her the length of the sunlight band; a waltz step backward and forward, from sunshine into shadow; a gliding turn and sweeping courtesy that might have been stolen from the minuet:
"He rode right up to Miss Mousey's den,
A-hung—a-hung.
He rode right up to Miss Mousey's den,
'I say, Missy Mouse, is you within?'
A-hung—a-hung.
'Yes, here I sits, an' here I spin,
Lift the latch an' do come in.'
A-hung—a-hung."
Her voice leaped suddenly into a joyful note:
"Suh! He took Miss Mousey on his knee,
'Say, Missy Mouse, will you marry me?'
A-hung—a-hung!"
She had swept into a pirouette that spun her like a top, stopped abruptly at the hay, and clapped her hands teasingly at the quivering collie: "A-hung, suh—a-hung!"
The dog was on her with a bound. The two came down on the hay and rolled over and over, the collie snarling in mock ferocity, Ann rippling with laughter, an ebullition of sheer animal spirits, a child at play, the gaiety Sue deplored.
But Ann was soon spent. She sat up then, flushed, panting and disheveled, the dog held at arm's length. She looked at the animal, for a full moment, into the creature's affectionate eyes, and her laughter died suddenly. She put her arms about the dog's neck and buried her face. "Oh, Prince!" she said, with a sob in her voice, "I reckon you an' Ben are the only ones that love me."
Baird had watched Ann dance with the delight one feels in a stolen pleasure—she was so utterly pretty and graceful, and so unconscious. When she rolled about in sheer abandonment on the hay he almost laughed out, in spite of the warmth that rose to his face. But, at the sob in her voice, he felt ashamed, like one caught eavesdropping. Baird was not overburdened with fine feelings, in some respects he was coarse-fibered, but there was too much genuine sorrow and longing in the girl's voice. It made him uncomfortable; he had no right to be there. He drew back into the wagon-shed, uncertain just how to present himself.
Ann solved the difficulty. She came out carrying the basket of eggs and with the collie at her heels. At sight of Baird, the dog barked furiously, and Ann stopped dead; the look she gave Baird was scarcely more friendly than the dog's bark; she was so evidently startled.