the men and women of the couples
separated, stepped swayingly, each towards the nearest of the couple to
their right, and retreated.

"Balance to corners, left!"

The same movement was executed to the other side.

"First couple forward and back!" shouted Frank.

Marise and 'Gene advanced, hand in hand, to meet the old clergyman and
the little girl. They met in the middle, poised an instant on the top
wave of rhythm and stepped back, every footfall, every movement, their
very breathing, in time to the beat-beat-beat of the fiddle's air which
filled the room as insistently as the odor of the pines.

Mrs. Powers nodded her white head to it and tapped her foot. Marsh had
not ventured to remove his eyes from the weaving interplay of the
dancers in his own set. Now, for an instant, he glanced beyond them into
the next room. He received an impression of rapid, incessant, intricate
shifting to and fro, the whole throng of dancers in movement as swift
and disconcerting to the eyes as the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. It
made him literally dizzy to see it, and he turned his eyes back to his
own set.

The air changed, but not the rhythm, and all the men broke out in a
hoarse chant, singing to a whirring, rapid tune,

"_Oh_, pass right through and never mind who
And leave the girl behind you.
Now come right back on the same old track
And _swing_ the girl behind you!"

In obedience to these chanted commands, the four who were executing the
figure went through labyrinthine manoeuvers, forward and back, dividing
and reuniting. The old clergyman held out his hand to Mrs. Crittenden,
laughing as he swung her briskly about. 'Gene bent his great bulk
solemnly to swing his own little daughter. Then with neat exactitude, on
the stroke of the beat, they were all back in their places.

"_Second_ couple forward and back!" sang out Frank, prolonging the
syllables in an intoned chant like a muezzin calling from a tower.
Vincent felt himself being pushed and shoved by Mrs. Powers through the
intricate figure.

"Now come right back on the same old track
And _swing_ the girl behind you!"

The men shouted loudly, stamping in time, with such a relish for the
beat of the rhythm that it sang itself through to the motor-centers and
set them throbbing. Vincent found himself holding Nelly Powers at arm's
length and swinging her till his head whirled. She was as light as
sea-foam, dreamy, her blue eyes