“I think it’s getting to be rather out of proportion to the joke; don’t you, Mr. Ray? Not that Ansel laughs too much, as a rule.”
Denton rose, when the children let the violin slip to the floor at last, and improvised the figure of a dance with them on his shoulders, and let himself go in fantastic capers, while he kept a visage of perfect seriousness.
Hughes was drawn by the noise, and put his head into the room.
“We’ve got the old original Ansel back, father!” cried Mrs. Denton, and she clapped her hands and tried to sing to the dance, but broke down, and mocked at her own failure.
When Denton stopped breathless, Peace took the children from him, and carried them away. His wife remained.
“Ansel was brought up among the Shakers; that’s the reason he dances so nicely.”
“Oh, was that a Shaker dance?” Ray asked, carelessly.
“No. The Shaker dance is a rite,” said Denton, angrily. “You might as well expect me to burlesque a prayer.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Ray. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about it.”
But Denton left the room without visible acceptance of his excuse.