"Now, just look at Ada and Willy," whispered Grace in his ear, as
she brought him in view of the young dancers. Ada was a lovely
child, and the old uncle's heart had already taken her in. She was a
graceful little dancer, and moved in the figures with the lightness
of a fairy. It was a beautiful sight, and in the face of all the
prejudices which half a century had worn into him, he felt that it
was beautiful. As he looked upon it, he could keep the dimness from
his eyes only by a strong effort.

"Is there evil in that, uncle?" asked Grace, drawing her arm within
that of the old man's.

"Is it good?" he replied.

"Yes; it is good," said Grace, emphatically, as she lifted her eyes
to his.

Mr. Archer did not gainsay her words. He at least felt that it was
not evil, though he could not admit that it was good.

Spite of the dancing, which soon ceased to offend the good old man,
he passed a pleasant evening. Perhaps, he enjoyed the Christmas
party as much as any one there.

Nothing was said, on the next day, by any one, on the subject of
dancing; though Mr. Archer, especially, thought a great deal about
the matter. Some ideas had come into his mind that were new there,
and he was pondering them attentively. On the third day of his
arrival, he had a severe attack of rheumatism, from which he
suffered great pain, besides a confinement to his room for a couple