“O, captain, don’t say anything to him to-night,” cried Becky, seizing the captain’s arm, and preventing his leaving the room. “He would hate me if I made trouble between him and you; and I love him so dearly! Don’t captain, don’t. You’ll break my heart.”
The little goose dropped the captain’s arm, and fled to the sofa, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed aloud. The captain stared at her. It was evident to him she did love Harry; and his hatred of Miss Alice Parks grew stronger. But it was no time for a scene; and he sat himself down beside Becky, put his arm around her, and penitently promised to be quiet, and not interfere. He gradually succeeded in bringing Becky into a lighter mood; and as the refreshed company from the dining-room drifted that way, the party on the sofa were hugely enjoying a joke the captain had perpetrated for the benefit of his companion.
In due time the dining-room was cleared of the fragments of the feast, the tables rolled against the walls, and, with Harry as master of ceremonies, a succession of familiar in-door pastimes was inaugurated for the younger members of the company. “Fox and Geese,” “Blind Man’s Buff,” and “Hunt the Slipper,” gave pleasant entertainment to the light-hearted revellers.
Nor did the happy occasion end here. Mr. Clairborn, the chorester, had been running about the room, watching Mr. Arnold with a feverish excitement he found hard to control. At last that worthy individual, to set a good example to his parishioners, tucked his good wife under his arm and departed. Then Mr. Clairborn ran to the sofa and from behind it took a long green bag, of peculiar shape, and from the bag he took—a fiddle, to the amazement of certain staid neighbors, who thought the man crazy. Of these people he took not the least notice, but, with his instrument in full view, marched to the head of the dining-room.
Instantly there was a shout, “A dance! a dance!” A dance in Deacon Thompson’s house! He’d soon put a stop to that. Anxious looks were cast in his direction; but he was busy talking to Mrs. York, and took not the least notice of what was going on about him.
“Hull’s Victory; take your partners!” shouted Mr. Clairborn.
The captain did not move; the company did. There was a moment’s bustle, and then Mr. Clairborn’s bow went dancing across his fiddle, and twenty happy couples danced up and down the dining-room. Then came “Virginia Reel.” “Money Musk,” “Fisher’s Hornpipe,” and a regular succession of good old contra dances, with a merry accompaniment of glib tongues and happy laughter. O, captain, you are laying yourself open to a severe reckoning at the next church meeting. Little cared the stubborn captain what might come of his folly. “Eat, drink, and be merry.” The lost son was home again. They might make a bonfire of his old house; but they should never forget this night.
In the height of their merriment, a strange figure dashed into their midst. It was Aunt Hulda.
“Stop, quick! Where’s Becky Sleeper?”