"I ain't going to dance at all, John. I'd much rather look on. I think it's real fun to see 'em scramble about."
He brightened at this, but soon became a prey to melancholy again, for as soon as the dance was over a crowd of men pressed to Drusy's side. Not even Henrietta Blaisdell or the pretty schoolmistress received half as much attention. The fact of her being a "hired girl" at the "tahvern" rather added to than detracted from her social importance, and there was a charm about her gay, gracious manner and bright beauty which was irresistible.
"Reube seems ter be tryin' tew make up with Henrietty ag'in," whispered one of the lumbermen to his sweetheart. "He's been kinder strayin' off in the direction of the tahvern lately; but pine timber's more takin' then good looks tew some folks."
"Likely ez not Drusy won't hev nothin' tew say tew him," said the girl. "That gawky-lookin' John Barker 'pears tew be hangin' raound her consid'able. 'Twould be kind er funny ef she should like him better." And she laughed scornfully.
Barker overheard this, and the girl's words, and, above all, her laughter, stung him to the quick. He leaned against the patriotic wall and meditated bitterly.
Reube came over and stood by Drusy's side, and they talked in a low, interested tone. She never talked to him in that way, never listened to what he had to say with such half-shy, half-coquettish attention. But she would not dance, even with Reube.
The sleigh-bells of some late-comers came tinkling up to the door.
"Why, Sam, what's kept ye so? It's 'most nine o'clock," exclaimed one of the lumbermen to a red-shirted comrade who came hurrying into their midst.
"Sick man at the camp. The doctor from the Mills hez jest been ter see him, but said he couldn't do nothin' fur him; reckoned he'd be a goner before mornin'."
"Sho! Who is it?"