"Choose yo' pardners fur de fust cowtillun!"

Again the quick rustle of silk and tulle, the low hum of excited, young
voices and the couples are in place.

A boy cries to the leader:

"We're all ready, Sam."

The young caller of the set knew his business better. He lifted his hand
in a gesture of reverence and silence, as he glanced toward the library
door.

"Jes' a minute la-dees, an' gem-mens," he softly drawled. "Marse Robert
E. Lee and Missis will lead dis set!"

The Colonel briskly entered from the library with his wife on his arm. A
ripple of applause swept the room as they took their places with the gay
youngsters.

Sam lifted his hand; the music began--sweet and low, vibrating with the
sensuous touch of the negro slave whose soul was free in its joyous
melody.

At the first note of his triangle, loud above the music rang Sam's
voice:

"Honors to yo' pardners!"