fiddlin' Jake from the Flag neighborhood, I guess."

"There'll be somethin' a heap more excitin' than fiddlin' and
dancin', accordin' to my guess," returned Young Matt.

"What do you mean?" asked Sammy.

Her escort pointed to the print of a mule's shoe in the soft soil
of the low bottom land. "That there's Wash Gibbs's dun mule, and
he's headed down the creek for Jennings's still. Wash'll meet a
lot of his gang from over on the river, and like's not they'll go
from there to the party. I wish your dad was goin' to do the
playin' to-night."

It was full dark before they reached the Ford clearing. The faint,
far away sound of a violin, seeming strange and out of place in
the gloomy solitude of the great woods, first told them that other
guests had already arrived. Then as they drew nearer and the tones
of the instrument grew louder, they could hear the rhythmic swing
and beat of heavily shod feet upon the rough board floors, with
the shrill cries of the caller, and the half savage, half pathetic
sing-song of the backwoods dancers, singing, "Missouri Gal."

Reaching the edge of the clearing, they involuntarily checked
their horses, stopping just within the shadow of the timber. Here
the sound of the squeaking fiddle, the shouting caller, the
stamping feet, and the swinging dancers came with full force; and,
through the open door and windows of the log house, they could see
the wheeling, swaying figures of coatless men and calico gowned
women, while the light, streaming out, opened long lanes in the