rowned rustic and his sweetheart, we silently
followed.

The orang was of a retiring disposition, and very little of him was
visible from our point of vantage. As I shifted my position in order
to give the ladies a better place, a familiar voice close beside me
cried with evident pleasure:

'Wal! Lord a-massy, if it ain't you! Come to see the big monkey, like
all the rest of us? Ain't much of a sight yit.'

It was Mrs. Camp, and she seemed quite alone. She put out her hand
with perfect faith in my pleasure at the meeting; and when I took it
and spoke her name, I felt a soft touch at my elbow. I had told the
ladies of my acquaintance with Mrs. Camp, and they had fully enjoyed
the woman's sharp sallies at my expense. I quite understood the
meaning of Miss Jenrys' hint, but while I hesitated, Mrs. Camp began
again:

'I've left Camp to home this time. I've tramped and traipsed with him
up and down this here Midway, but I've never once got him inside none
of these places sense he took me to that blue place over there that
they call the Pershun Palis; no more a palis than our new smoke-house.
But Adam seen so much foreign dancin'----' As she talked she ran her
eyes from one of our group to another, and as she uttered the words
'foreign dancin',' her eyes fell full upon Miss Ross, who at once
said, turning to me:

'Perhaps thee would better introduce thy friend.'

It was done, and in a moment Mrs. Camp was standing close beside Miss
Jenrys, making note of her beauty, and taking in the points of her
toilet with appreciative eyes, while her tongue wagged on vigorously.
She had taken up her story of her husband's 'quittin' of Midway.'

'He hadn't never no notion of dancin',' she declared, 'and never took
a step in his life--not to music, that is. But he wanted to learn all
he could about furrin ways, he said, so in we went. Well, you ort to
'a' seen them girls. Mebbe ye have, though?'

'No,' murmured June.

'Well, then, you don't want to. Dancin'! I've got an old hen, a'most
ten years old--I've been a-keepin' her to see how long a hen would
live--an' if that hen can't take more honest dancin' steps than the
hull posse of them hourys, as they call 'em. All the dancin' they know
they'd 'a' learnt from snakes and eels, an' sich like wrigglin'
things. Pshaw! I don't b'lieve that ole monkey's goin' to show hisself
to-day, humbly thing!'

When we turned away from the Java Village Mrs. Camp was one of our
party, and when w