"I'm sure you would!" she rejoined—"For an 'old' bachelor, John, you are quite an adept at that kind of thing!"
Here the little village dancers slackened the speed of their tripping measure and moved slowly round and round, allowing the garlands and ribbons to drop from their hands one by one against the May-pole, as they sang in softer tones—
"The moon shines bright, and the stars give light,
A little before it is day,
So God bless you all, both great and small,
And send you a merrie May!"
Ceasing at this, they all gathered in one group and burst out into an ecstatic roar.
"Hurra! Three cheers for Passon!"
"Hurra! Hurra! Hurra!"
"Three cheers for Miss Vancourt!"
"Hurra!" But here there was a pause. Some one was obstructing the wave of enthusiasm. Signs of mixed scuffling were apparent,—when all suddenly the bold voice of Bob Keeley cried out:
"Not a bit of it! Three cheers for Missis Passon!"
Shouts of laughter followed this irreverent proposal, together with much whooping and cheering as never was. Ipsie Frost, who of course was present, no village revel being considered complete without her, was dancing recklessly all by herself on the grass, chirping in her baby voice a ballad of her own contriving which ran thus: