Now it happened that in happier days this had been the favourite dance of Miss Bethesda Pool, and that her favourite partner in it had been Buckstone Bradford. She could not keep back a start when the well-known air was played with all its old fire; and for the life of her, it seemed, she could not help looking across the hall at Buckstone, where he stood, leaning stiffly against the wall. He was looking at her, of course: somehow, she knew he would be. Their eyes met; and perhaps neither of them knew exactly what happened next. Before Mr. Bradford had time to collect his thoughts, he found himself bowing his stiff back before Bethesda Pool. "My dance, I believe!" he said, shortly; and though Miss Bethesda knew it was nothing of the kind, she could not find breath to say so. She looked up, she looked down; and the next moment, to the amazement of everybody, the two old sweethearts took their places at the head of the line.
Now Will Newell had been growing uneasy during the last half-hour. He had hardly had a chance to speak to Nan, yet had managed to make her understand that all was ready, and that when he gave the word she was to take her life in her hand and fly with him. But when could he give the word? Bradford's eyes had hardly left his daughter's figure all the evening; he followed her up and down the lines of dancers, frowning heavily if Will happened to be near her in the dance, stolidly content if her neighbour were young Jacob Flynt. What was Will to do? The horse would be getting uneasy, and the moon would be setting before long. He must get rid of old Bradford, somehow!
Suddenly, hardly able to believe his eyes, he saw his tormentor fairly turn his back on Nan: saw him cross the room, saw him bend before Miss Bethesda, saw him standing up to dance. Now! now was the chance! In an instant Will had forced his way before Jacob Flynt, who was just about to lead Nan out for the dance. "You're engaged to me for this, you know, Nan," said this unblushing young fellow; and he drew her arm under his with a quick, masterful gesture. "But—but—but she promised me!" cried poor Jacob, who stammered a little.
"Oh, go to Tinkham!" said Will, alluding disrespectfully to the next township; and he led off his trembling Nan in triumph.
"All around the cobbler's shop
The monkey chased the weasel;
That's the way the money goes,—
Pop! goes the weasel!"
The fiddle says "Pop!" as plainly as the ridiculous doggerel; and at the word, two of the three who have been swinging round together lift their arms, and the third goes "pop!" under and rises to confront the next couple: more tiptoe swaying, balancing to this one, chassez-ing to that one; then three hands round, and "pop!" goes the weasel again; and so on down the whole room, in the prettiest, merriest, most enchanting dance of them all. But this is engrossing, I would have you know. When one is popping every third minute, and balancing and swinging during the other two, it is difficult, it is impossible, to keep a sharp lookout on two persons who are popping at the other end of the dance. Half of Buckstone Bradford, the worst half, was having a sad time of it, trying to see over his shoulder and behind his back; but the other half, the one that had asked Miss Bethesda to dance, ah! that half was enjoying itself as it had not done for years. How she danced! as pat to the music as fiddle to bow! How small her hand looked, just as it used to look, lying in his big brown palm! How—now, where in time were those pesky young ones?