he visitors, and was generally voted
"stuck-up," and "too big for his boots." As for Jim and Wally, they
flung themselves cheerfully into the business of the night, and even
succeeded in making most of their partners talk, albeit this was a
daring proceeding, and not looked upon with favour by the M.C. They
were too popular, however, to come in for any real criticism, and being
regarded by the majority of the men as "just kids," were allowed to do
very much as they liked.

Supper was a majestic meal, spread on long tables in a big tent. Mr.
Linton led the way to it with Mrs. Brown, followed by Mick Shanahan,
who conveyed Norah much in the way he danced with her--as if she were a
piece of eggshell china, and apt to crack with careless handling. There
was no "head of the table"; every one sat in the place that seemed
good, and tongues flew as fast as the knives and forks. At the end Mr.
Linton made a little speech.

"My friends," he said, "it's a great pleasure to Billabong to see you
all here. I hope you'll keep it up till morning, and come again next
year; you're always welcome. However, it is time my daughter went to
bed." (Dissent, and cries of "Not her!") "Before she goes, though, I
would like to see one more dance. I move that our old friend Andy
Ferguson play the 'Royal Irish.'"

There was frantic applause, and supper adjourned hastily, while every
one hurried back to the loft; in the midst old Andy, his quavering
voice a little raised in excitement, his fiddle held firmly in one
hand. "Too old to work," some called him, wondering why David Linton
kept the old fencer, when younger men were always wanting work on
Billabong; and now, as he faced the long room with his faded blue eyes
a little misty, Andy looked an old man indeed. But the pride of work
was in him, and his master knew it--knew how the gnarled hands ceased to
tremble when they grasped the adze and mattock, just as there was now
no quiver in them as he raised the brown fiddle and cuddled it under
his chin. Age would seize on Andy only when he could work and play no
more. The light came back into his eyes as he saw the boys and girls
waiting for the music--his music.

He drew the bow lovingly across the strings, and swung into the Irish
dance the old, common tune with the little gay lilt to it that grips
the heart and makes the feet beat time, and has the power to wake old
memories across the years. There were no memories to wake in the happy
young h