Miriam superintended the decorating of the rooms, aided by the “hands”, who, like Birnam Wood, advanced across the white meadow obliterated under a mass of evergreens.
Only one contretemps occurred. A few days after Christmas Mrs. Boots, the minister’s wife, accompanied by Mrs. Sweet, wife of the mail carrier, made her way to the Castle and warned Louise that her dance would conflict with the “watch-night service” at the Valley church.
New Year’s fell on a Saturday, and to postpone the ball one night would involve dancing into the early hours of the Day of Rest. Keble had made arrangements to leave on Saturday for the east, on a short business trip to London. To hold the entertainment over until Monday would therefore be out of the question.
Louise had a characteristic inspiration. “Why not turn the library into a chapel!” she exclaimed, kindling at the prospect of an extra dramatic item on her program, “And pause at midnight for spiritual refreshments! I’ll make everybody file in and kneel, Mr. Boots can say a prayer, and we’ll all sing a little hymn—perfect!”
“And then go on dancing!” cried Mrs. Boots, in horror.
Mrs. Sweet reflected the horror on her friend’s face. Then her disapproving glances traveled to a corner of the hall where some noisy girls were making paper chains and lanterns under the direction of Pearl Beatty.
Louise saw that she had given pain to the minister’s wife. “Forgive me,” she said impulsively. “I’m such a heathen! But if I were a Christian I’m sure it wouldn’t disturb my conscience to dance and pray alternately; indeed each would gain by the contrast. What’s the point of a religion that has to be kept in a cage?”
Mrs. Boots could have found answers if she had been given time to catch her breath, but before she had a word ready Louise was shaking her cordially by the hand and consigning her to a maid who was to take the ladies to the cottage and comfort them with tea and a sight of the baby before the mail sleigh returned to the Valley.
Whatever the concourse of the faithful at the watch-night service, there was never an instant’s doubt as to the triumph of the forces of evil. From the moment when Keble and the wife of the Mayor of Witney, followed by Louise and the Mayor, stepped out at the head of a “grand march” until daybreak on the first of January when a winded band played a doleful version of “God Save the King”, the festivities went forward with irresistible momentum. Keble made a speech, and then with true British fortitude danced with every female guest. Miriam, acting on orders, solicited dances from bashful cowboys, and once, in the grip of an honest lad who seemed to have mistaken her for a pump, she caught the eyes of Keble, in the grip of the new laundress, who was bolting towards a wall with him. And they hadn’t dared to burst out laughing.
Louise darted in and out, setting everything on fire, making the dour laugh and the obstreperous subside, launching witty sallies and personal broadsides, robbing Pearl of her plethora of partners and leading them captive to the feet of girls who, after living for days on the exciting prospect, were now sitting against the wall with their poor red hands in their laps, enjoying it, vicariously.