working her way out of this unwelcome crowd, but to her amazement, no
sooner had they been surrounded by the young roysterers than Phoebe,
breaking her long silence, seized her sister by the hand and began
laughing, dancing, and running with the best of them. To crown all,
what was Rebecca's surprise to hear her sister singing word for word
the madcap song of the others, as though she had known these words all
her life. She did not even skip those parts that made Rebecca blush.

It was incredible--monstrous--impossible! Phoebe, the sweet, modest,
gentle, prudish Phoebe, singing a questionable song in a whirl of
roystering Jerusalemites!

Up the broad road they danced--up to the northward, all men making way
for them as, with hand-bag and umbrella flying in her left hand, she was
dragged forward on an indecorous run by Phoebe, who held her tightly
by the right.

On--ever on, past wayside inn and many a lane and garden, house and
hedge. Over the stones and ruts, choking in clouds of dust.

Once Rebecca stumbled and a great gawky fellow caught her around the
waist to prevent her falling.

"Lips pay forfeit for tripping feet, lass!" he cried, and kissed her
with a sounding smack.

Furious and blushing, she swung her hand-bag in a circle and brought it
down upon the ravisher's head.

"Take that, you everlastin' rascal, you!" she gasped.

The bumpkin dodged with a laugh and disappeared in the crowd and dust,
cuffing, pushing, scuffling, hugging, and kissing quite heedless of
small rebuffs.

When they had proceeded thus until Rebecca thought there was nothing
left for it but to fall in her tracks and be trampled to death, the
whole crowd came suddenly to a halt, and the young men began to erect
the May-pole in the midst of a shaded green on one side of the main
road.

Rebecca stood, angry and breathless, trying to flick the dust off her
bag with her handkerchief, while Phoebe, at her side, her eyes bright
and cheeks rosy, showed her pretty teeth in a broad smile of pleasure,
the while she tried to restore some order to her hair. As for her hat,
that had long ago been lost.

"I declare--I declare to goodness!" panted Rebecca, "ef anybody'd told
me ez you, Phoebe Wise, would take on so--so like--like a--a----"

"Like any Zanny's light-o-love," Phoebe broke in, her bosom heaving
with the violence of her exercise. "But prithee, sweet, chide me not.
From this on shall I be chaste, demure, and sober as an abbess in