ed there from
far, far away,' says Joe, 'and I fought he was going to eat me up,
Uncle Jim.' 'Were you scared?' says I. 'No, 'cause I had a big gun,'
says Joe, 'and I shot the wolf dead, Uncle Jim,--solid dead--and then
he went up to heaven and bit God,' says he. Well, I was fair
staggered, Mistress Blythe."

The hours bloomed into mirth around the driftwood fire. Captain Jim
told tales, and Marshall Elliott sang old Scotch ballads in a fine
tenor voice; finally Captain Jim took down his old brown fiddle from
the wall and began to play. He had a tolerable knack of fiddling,
which all appreciated save the First Mate, who sprang from the sofa as
if he had been shot, emitted a shriek of protest, and fled wildly up
the stairs.

"Can't cultivate an ear for music in that cat nohow," said Captain Jim.
"He won't stay long enough to learn to like it. When we got the organ
up at the Glen church old Elder Richards bounced up from his seat the
minute the organist began to play and scuttled down the aisle and out
of the church at the rate of no-man's-business. It reminded me so
strong of the First Mate tearing loose as soon as I begin to fiddle
that I come nearer to laughing out loud in church than I ever did
before or since."

There was something so infectious in the rollicking tunes which Captain
Jim played that very soon Marshall Elliott's feet began to twitch. He
had been a noted dancer in his youth. Presently he started up and held
out his hands to Leslie. Instantly she responded. Round and round the
firelit room they circled with a rhythmic grace that was wonderful.
Leslie danced like one inspired; the wild, sweet abandon of the music
seemed to have entered into and possessed her. Anne watched her in
fascinated admiration. She had never seen her like this. All the
innate richness and color and charm of her nature seemed to have broken
loose and overflowed in crimson cheek and glowing eye and grace of
motion. Even the aspect of Marshall Elliott, with his long beard and
hair, could not spoil the picture. On the contrary, it seemed to
enhance it. Marshall Elliott looked like a Viking of elder days,
dancing with one of the blue-eyed, golden-haired daughters of the
Northland.

"The purtiest dancing I ever saw, and I've seen some in my time,"
declared Captain Jim, when at last the bow fell from his tired hand.
Leslie dropped into her chair, laughing, breathless.

"I love dancing," she said apart to Anne. "I