“Now for the dance,” said Chester, when supper had been cleared away and the dishes washed.
“Who’s going to play?” asked Phil, in dismay. “I’ve heard of songs without words, but never of a dance without music.”
“Oh, I’ll whistle,” declared Ted.
But several of the men moved away, quickly returning with fiddles and accordions.
“Better take turns,” said Phil, wondering what the concert of instruments would sound like.
“Guess you never heard our Chikau band,” laughed Andy. “Just give them a sample, boys.” To the surprise of the newcomers, the men struck into a waltz which they played with perfect rhythm. And before they had finished, the young people were dancing.
Picturesque was the scene when the moon rose, flooding the vale with its silver, while the occasional howl of some beast of prey in the distance recalled the merrymakers to their isolation in the wilderness.
The floor being hard for waltzing, most of the dances were the old-fashioned “country dances,” the men dancing together to fill out the sets, while the girls often changed partners several times during a figure, that none might be slighted.
“Eleven o’clock! Dance over!” announced Andy, and when they begged for a few more sets, he reminded them that the morrow would be a long hard day.
Again the weather was pleasant, and the working of mortising the uprights, ridge-pole, and rafters proceeded rapidly.