"Now, lasses, step forret! Dunnot be blate. Come along with ye, any as have springiness in them!"
The rough invitation was accepted without too much timidity by several damsels dressed in gorgeous gowns and bonnets. Then up and down, one, two, three, cut and shuffle, cross, under, and up and down again.
"I'll be mounting my best nag and comin' ower to Scara Crag and tappin' at your window some neet soon," whispered a young fellow to the girl he had just danced with.
She laughed a little mockingly.
"Your best nag, Willy?"
"Weel—the maister's."
She laughed again, and a sneer curled her lip. "You Colebank chaps are famous sweethearts, I hear. Fare-te-weel, Willy."
And she twisted on her heel. He followed her up.
"Dunnet gowl, Aggy. Mappen I'll be maister man mysel' soon."
Aggy pushed her way through the crowd and disappeared.