"Thou dost him wrong, Cicely. An he keep not the tryst, 'twill only be——"
"'Twill only be thy first misprision, eh?"
"Marry, then——"
Here their words were lost as they continued to move farther away, still disputing together.
"Well!" exclaimed Rebecca, turning to Phœbe. "Now I know where we've ben carried to. This is the Holy Land—Jerusalem or Bethlehem or Canaan or some sech place. Thou—thee—thy! Did ye hear those girls talkin' Bible language, Phœbe?"
Phœbe shook her head and was about to reply when there was a loud clamour of many tongues from the road near by.
"The May-pole! The May-pole!" and someone started a roaring song in which hundreds soon joined. The sisters could not distinguish the words, but the volume of sound was tremendous.
There was the tramp of many rushing feet and a Babel of cries behind them. They turned to see a party of twenty gayly clad young men bearing down upon them, carrying a mighty May-pole crowned with flowers and streaming with colored ribbons.
Around these and following after were three or four score merry lads and lasses, all running and capering, shouting and dancing, singly or in groups, hand in hand.
In a trice Rebecca found herself clinging to Phœbe with whom she was borne onward helpless by the mad throng.