quite so
unalloyed, after all, the stricken Flitcroft keeping his room for a
week under medical supervision), had not been the only bower of the
dance in Canaan that evening: another Temple of Terpsichore had shone
forth with lights, though of these there were not quite a myriad. The
festivities they illumined obtained no mention in the paper, nor did
they who trod the measures in this second temple exhibit any sense of
injury because of the Tocsin's omission. Nay, they were of that class,
shy without being bashful, exclusive yet not proud, which shuns
publicity with a single-heartedness almost unique in our republic,
courting observation neither in the prosecution of their professions
nor in the pursuit of happiness.

Not quite a mile above the northernmost of the factories on the
water-front, there projected into the river, near the end of the
crescent bend above the town, a long pier, relic of steamboat days,
rotting now, and many years fallen from its maritime uses. About
midway of its length stood a huge, crazy shed, long ago utilized as a
freight storeroom. This had been patched and propped, and a
dangerous-looking veranda attached to it, over-hanging the water.
Above the doorway was placed a sign whereon might be read the words,
"Beaver Beach, Mike's Place." The shore end of the pier was so ruinous
that passage was offered by a single row of planks, which presented an
appearance so temporary, as well as insecure, that one might have
guessed their office to be something in the nature of a drawbridge.
From these a narrow path ran through a marsh, left by the receding
river, to a country road of desolate appearance. Here there was a
rough enclosure, or corral, with some tumble-down sheds which afforded
shelter, on the night of Joseph Louden's disgrace, for a number of
shaggy teams attached to those decrepit and musty vehicles known
picturesquely and accurately as Night-Hawks. The presence of such
questionable shapes in the corral indicated that the dance was on at
Beaver Beach, Mike's Place, as surely as the short line of cabs and
family carriages on upper Main Street made it known that gayety was the
order of the night at the Pike Mansion. But among other differences
was this, that at the hour when the guests of the latter were leaving,
those seeking the hospitalities of Beaver Beach had just begun to
arrive.

By three o'clock, however, joy at Mike's Place had become beyond
question unconfined, and the to