be abandoned, he had got up
again, turned tail, and come home.

There was a dance in the evening. With which general mention of that
recreation, I should have left it alone, if I had not some reason to
suppose that it was quite an original dance, and one of a most uncommon
figure. It was formed in an odd way; in this way.

Edward, that sailor-fellow--a good free dashing sort of fellow he
was--had been telling them various marvels concerning parrots, and
mines, and Mexicans, and gold dust, when all at once he took it in his
head to jump up from his seat and propose a dance; for Bertha's harp
was there, and she such a hand upon it as you seldom hear. Dot (sly
little piece of affectation when she chose) said her dancing days were
over; I think because the Carrier was smoking his pipe, and she liked
sitting by him best. Mrs. Fielding had no choice, of course, but to say
_her_ dancing days were over, after that; and everybody said the same,
except May; May was ready.

So, May and Edward get up, amid great applause, to dance alone; and
Bertha plays her liveliest tune.

Well! if you'll believe me, they had not been dancing five minutes, when
suddenly the Carrier flings his pipe away, takes Dot round the waist,
dashes out into the room, and starts off with her, toe and heel, quite
wonderfully. Tackleton no sooner sees this than he skims across to Mrs.
Fielding, takes her round the waist, and follows suit. Old Dot no sooner
sees this than up he is, all alive, whisks off Mrs. Dot into the middle
of the dance, and is foremost there. Caleb no sooner sees this than he
clutches Tilly Slowboy by both hands, and goes off at score; Miss
Slowboy, firm in the belief that diving hotly in among the other
couples, and effecting any number of concussions with them, is your only
principle of footing it.

Hark! how the Cricket joins the music with its Chirp, Chirp, Chirp; and
how the kettle hums!

* * * * *

But what is this? Even as I listen to them blithely, and turn towards
Dot, for one last glimpse of a little figure very pleasant to me, she
and the rest have vanished into air, and I am left alone. A Cricket
sings upon the Hearth; a broken child's toy lies upon the ground: and
nothing else remains.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Cricket on the Hearth, by Charles Dickens

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH ***

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