orchestra would strike up again, and Marija would return to her place
and take up her task.

She bore all the burden of the festivities now. Ona was kept up by her
excitement, but all of the women and most of the men were tired--the
soul of Marija was alone unconquered. She drove on the dancers--what had
once been the ring had now the shape of a pear, with Marija at the stem,
pulling one way and pushing the other, shouting, stamping, singing, a
very volcano of energy. Now and then some one coming in or out would
leave the door open, and the night air was chill; Marija as she passed
would stretch out her foot and kick the doorknob, and slam would go
the door! Once this procedure was the cause of a calamity of which
Sebastijonas Szedvilas was the hapless victim. Little Sebastijonas, aged
three, had been wandering about oblivious to all things, holding turned
up over his mouth a bottle of liquid known as "pop," pink-colored,
ice-cold, and delicious. Passing through the doorway the door smote
him full, and the shriek which followed brought the dancing to a halt.
Marija, who threatened horrid murder a hundred times a day, and would
weep over the injury of a fly, seized little Sebastijonas in her arms
and bid fair to smother him with kisses. There was a long rest for the
orchestra, and plenty of refreshments, while Marija was making her peace
with her victim, seating him upon the bar, and standing beside him and
holding to his lips a foaming schooner of beer.

In the meantime there was going on in another corner of the room an
anxious conference between Teta Elzbieta and Dede Antanas, and a few of
the more intimate friends of the family. A trouble was come upon them.
The veselija is a compact, a compact not expressed, but therefore only
the more binding upon all. Every one's share was different--and yet
every one knew perfectly well what his share was, and strove to give a
little more. Now, however, since they had come to the new country, all
this was changing; it seemed as if there must be some subtle poison in
the air that one breathed here--it was affecting all the young men at
once. They would come in crowds and fill themselves with a fine dinner,
and then sneak off. One would throw another's hat out of the window, and
both would go out to get it, and neither could be seen again. Or now
and then half a dozen of them would get together and march out openly,
staring at you, and making fun of you to your face. Still others,