ead it jist as it's writ."

Lindy nodded to Quincy and he read:

"There is no heart but hath some wish unfilled,
There is no soul without some longing killed,
With heart and soul work for thy heart's desire.
And turn not back for storm, nor flood, nor fire."

"This is gittin' quite tragic," said Strout. "I guess we've had all we
want to eat and drink, and have listened to all the bad poetry we want
ter, and I move--"

"Second the motion," cried Abner Stiles.

"And I move," continued Strout, "that we git back inter the kitchen, and
have a little dance jist to shake our suppers down."

After the company returned to the kitchen, Abner was again lifted to his
elevated position on the kitchen table, and the fun began again. There
was no doubt that in telling stories Abner Stiles often drew the long
bow, but it was equally true that he had no superior in Eastborough and
vicinity on the violin, or the fiddle, as he preferred to call it. He
was now in his glory. His fiddle was tucked under his chin, a red silk
handkerchief with large yellow polka dots protecting the violin from
injury from his stubbly beard rather than his chin from being injured by
the instrument.

[Illustration: "THE DEACON AND HIS WIFE LED OFF."]

After a few preliminary chords, Abner struck up the peculiar dance
movement very popular in those days, called "The Cure." As if
prearranged, Hiram Maxwell and Mandy Skinner ran to the centre of the
room and began singing the words belonging to the dance. Abner gradually
increased the speed of the melody, and the singers conformed, thereto.
Faster and faster the music went, and higher and higher the dancers
jumped until the ceiling prevented any further progress upward. They
leaned forward and backward, they leaned from side to side, but still
kept up their monotonous leaps into the air. Finally, when almost
exhausted, they sank into chairs hastily brought for them, amid the
applause of the party.

Quincy had seen the dance at the city theatres, but acknowledged to
himself that the country version was far ahead of the city one. At the
same time it seemed to him that the dance savored of barbarism, and he
recalled pictures and stories of Indian dances where the participants
fell to the ground too weak to rise.

"I put my right hand in," called out one of the fellows. Cries of "Oh,
yes, that's it!" came from the company, and they arranged themselves in
two rows, facing each other and r