time.

"If he only walk round the garden of a Sunday morning, his shirt-collar
is as limp as no starch at all," continued Mrs. Dewy, her countenance
lapsing parenthetically into a housewifely expression of concern at the
reminiscence.

"Come, come, you women-folk; 'tis hands across--come, come!" said the
tranter; and the conversation ceased for the present.



CHAPTER VIII: THEY DANCE MORE WILDLY


Dick had at length secured Fancy for that most delightful of
country-dances, opening with six-hands-round.

"Before we begin," said the tranter, "my proposal is, that 'twould be a
right and proper plan for every mortal man in the dance to pull off his
jacket, considering the heat."

"Such low notions as you have, Reuben! Nothing but strip will go down
with you when you are a-dancing. Such a hot man as he is!"

"Well, now, look here, my sonnies," he argued to his wife, whom he often
addressed in the plural masculine for economy of epithet merely; "I don't
see that. You dance and get hot as fire; therefore you lighten your
clothes. Isn't that nature and reason for gentle and simple? If I strip
by myself and not necessary, 'tis rather pot-housey I own; but if we