Master Olaf stand forth, dance a measure with me,
The dances so merry,
So merry in the green-wood.”
“Here they come at last,” said Tom; “pretty Lota is not half so false as you thought her, Torkel. The Haabet has sailed, I suppose,” added he, in a stage whisper. Torkel, however was much too happy to pay the smallest attention to his malicious insinuations, but took up the song for himself. Whether Lota put any particular meaning on the words of it, we will not take upon ourselves to say—
“And neither I will, and neither I may,
For to-morrow it is my own wedding-day,”
shouted he, at the full pitch of his voice, while the whole party took up the chorus—
“The dances so merry,
So merry in the green-wood.”
By this time the approaching party had emerged from the forest, and came along the glade in an irregular procession, putting one in mind of the Nemorins and Estelles of ancient pastorals, and all the more so from their picturesque costumes. The men wore certainly absurdly short round jackets, but they had rows of silver buttons on them, and brown short trousers worked with red tape, very high in the waistband, to match the jacket, but coming down no further than the calf of the leg, which was ornamented with bright blue stockings, with crimson clocks.