unclasped their hands and fell apart, laughing and panting.
And then, while yet she leaned against the Mayows' door-post, the
fiddle broke out again--broke into a polka tune; and there, in front
of her stood the young man in the blue jersey and peaked cap.

He was speaking. She scarcely knew what she answered; but, even while
she wondered, she had taken his arm submissively. And, next, his arm
was about her and she was dancing. She had never danced before; but,
after one or two broken paces, her will surrendered to his, her body
and its movements answered him docilely. She felt that his eyes were
fixed on her forehead, but dared not look up. She saw nothing of the
crowd. Other dancers passed and re-passed like phantoms, neither
jostling nor even touching--so well her partner steered. She grew
giddy; her breath came short and fast. She would have begged for a
rest, but the sense of his mastery weighed on her--held her dumb.
Suddenly he laughed close to her ear, and his breath ruffled her hair.

"You dance fine," he said. "Shall us cross the fire?"

She did not understand. In her giddiness they seemed to be moving in a
wide, empty space among many fires, nor had she an idea which was the
real one. His arm tightened about her.

"Now!" he whispered. With a leap they whirled high and across the
bonfire. Her feet had scarcely touched ground before they were off
again to the music--or would have been; but, to her immense surprise,
her partner had dropped on his knees before her and was clasping her
about the ankles. She heard a shout. The fire had caught the edge of
her skirt and her frock was burning.

It was over in a moment. His arms had stifled, extinguished the flame
before she knew of her danger. Still kneeling, holding her fast, he
looked up, and their eyes met. "Take me back," she murmured, swaying.
He rose, took her arm, and she found herself in the Mayows' doorway
with Cherry at her side. "Get away with you," said Cherry, "and leave
her to me!" And the young man went.

Cherry fell to examining the damaged skirt. "It's clean ruined," she
reported; "but I reckon that don't matter to a bride. John Penaluna'll
not be grudging the outfit. I must say, though--you quiet ones!"

"What have I done?"

"Done? Well, that's good. Only danced across the bonfire with young
Zeke Penhaligon. Why, mother can mind when that was every bit so good
as a marriage before parson and clerk!--and not so long ago neither."

III

"