"Who was that a-pickin' that banjer?"

It was not often that Dolph showed such excitement, but he had good cause,
and, when he saw Chad standing, shamefaced and bashful, in the middle of the
floor, and Melissa joyously pointing her finger at him, he caught up the banjo
from the bed and put it into the boy's hands. "Here, you just play that tune
agin!"

Chad shrank back, half distressed and half happy, and only a hail outside from
the first of the coming guests saved him from utter confusion. Once started,
they came swiftly, and in half an hour all were there. Each got a hearty
welcome from old Joel, who, with a wink and a laugh and a nod to the old
mother, gave a hearty squeeze to some buxom girl, while the fire roared a
heartier welcome still. Then was there a dance indeed--no soft swish of lace
and muslin, but the active swing of linsey and simple homespun; no French
fiddler's bows and scrapings, no intricate lancers, no languid waltz; but neat
shuffling forward and back, with every note of the music beat; floor-thumping
"cuttings of the pigeon's wing," and jolly jigs, two by two, and a great
"swinging of corners," and "caging the bird," and "fust lady to the right
CHEAT an' swing"; no flirting from behind fans and under stairways and little
nooks, but honest, open courtship--strong arms about healthy waists, and a
kiss taken now and then, with everybody to see and nobody to care who saw. If
a chair was lacking, a pair of brawny knees made one chair serve for two, but
never, if you please, for two men. Rude, rough, semi-barbarous, if you will,
but simple, natural, honest, sane, earthy--and of the earth whence springs the
oak and in time, maybe, the flower of civilization.

At the first pause in the dance, old Joel called loudly for Chad. The boy
tried to slip out of the door, but Dolph seized him and pulled him to a chair
in the corner and put the banjo in his hands. Everybody looked on with