Doubly considerate, she turned her back, too. She began to rummage among
the drawers of her old desk. "There!" she said, presently, "I knew I
could put my hands on it."

She set a daguerreotype before Jane. Its oval was bordered with a narrow
line of gilded metal and its small square back was covered with embossed
brown leather. "There, now! Do you know who that is?"

Jane looked back and forth doubtfully between the picture and its owner.
"Is it--is it--pa?"

Mrs. Bates nodded.

Jane regarded the daguerreotype with a puzzled fascination. "Did my
father ever wear his hair all wavy across his forehead that way, and have
such a thing tied around his throat, and wear a vest all covered with
those little gold sprigs?"

"Precisely. That's just the way he looked the last time we danced
together. And what do you suppose the dance was? Guess and guess and
guess again! It was this."

Mrs. Bates whisked herself on to the piano-stool and began to play and to
sing. Her touch was heavy and spirited, but her voice was easily audible
above the instrument.


"'Old Dan Tucker, he got drunk;
He jumped in the fire and he kicked up a chunk