"Come in the ring, Olof, come in the ring!"
Some of the girls broke the chain, and offered their hands.
There was Sunday merriment in the air, and all were intoxicated with spring. The stream flowed glittering through the fields, with a shimmer of heat above. The dancers quickened their pace almost to a run. The lads had pushed their hats back, the sweat stood in beads on their foreheads; the girls smiled with bright eyes, dimpled cheeks a-quiver, and heaving breast.
"My love is like a cranberry fair,
A cranberry fair, a cranberry fair.
For none but me she'll ever care,
She'll ever care, and ever care."
"Oh, it's too hot—let's try another game!" cried one.
"Let's play last man out—that gives you time to breathe."
"Yes—yes. Here's my partner!"
The chain broke up, and the new game began.
"And I'm last man—go on. We'll soon find another. Last man out!"
They raced away on either side, the last man between. It was the very place for this game, a gentle slope every way. The last man had no easy task, for the couples agreed, and tried hard to join again.