"We're all ready, Sam."
The young caller of the set knew his business better. He lifted his hand in a gesture of reverence and silence, as he glanced toward the library door.
"Jes' a minute la-dees, an' gem-mens," he softly drawled. "Marse Robert
E. Lee and Missis will lead dis set!"
The Colonel briskly entered from the library with his wife on his arm. A ripple of applause swept the room as they took their places with the gay youngsters.
Sam lifted his hand; the music began—sweet and low, vibrating with the sensuous touch of the negro slave whose soul was free in its joyous melody.
At the first note of his triangle, loud above the music rang Sam's voice:
"Honors to yo' pardners!"
With graceful courtesies and stately bows the dance began. And over all a glad negro called the numbers:
"Forward Fours!"
The caller's eyes rolled and his body swayed with the rhythm of the dance as he watched each set with growing pride. They danced a quadrille, a mazurka, another quadrille, a schottische, the lancers, another quadrille, and another and another. They paused for supper at midnight and then danced them over again.