over the seat of a pair of moleskin knickerbockers. He lit his pipe,
moved a stool to the side of the great empty fireplace, where it looked cooler
-- might have been cooler on account of a possible draught
suggested by the presence of the chimney, and where, therefore,
he felt a breath cooler. He took his fiddle from a convenient shelf,
tuned it slowly and carefully, holding his pipe (in his mouth) well up
and to one side, as if the fiddle were an inquisitive and restless baby.
He played "Little Drops o' Brandy" three times, right through,
without variations, blinking solemnly the while; then he put the violin
carefully back in its box, and started to cut up another pipeful.

"You should have gone, Johnny," said the haggard little woman.

"Rackin' the horse out a night like this," retorted Johnny,
"and startin' ploughin' to-morrow. It ain't worth while.
Let them come for me if they want me. Dance on a night like this!
Why! they'll dance in ----"

"But you promised. It won't do you no good, Johnny."

"It won't do me no harm."

The little woman went on stitching.

"It's smotherin' hot," said Johnny, with an impatient oath.
"I don't know whether I'll turn in, or turn out, under the shed to-night.
It's too d----d hot to roost indoors."

She bent her head lower over the patch. One smoked and the other stitched
in silence for twenty minutes or so, during which time