s pockets.

But abruptly there was an interruption. In the musicians' corner
a scuffle broke out. A chair was overturned. There was a noise of
imprecations mingled with shouts of derision. Skeezicks, the Frenchman,
had turned upon the joshers.

"Ah, no," he was heard to exclaim, "at the end of the end it is too
much. Kind of a bad canary--we will go to see about that. Aha, let him
close up his face before I demolish it with a good stroke of the fist."

The men who were lighting the lanterns were obliged to intervene before
he could be placated.

Hooven and his wife and daughters arrived. Minna was carrying little
Hilda, already asleep, in her arms. Minna looked very pretty, striking
even, with her black hair, pale face, very red lips and greenish-blue
eyes. She was dressed in what had been Mrs. Hooven's wedding gown, a
cheap affair of "farmer's satin." Mrs. Hooven had pendent earrings
of imitation jet in her ears. Hooven was wearing an old frock coat of
Magnus Derrick's, the sleeves too long, the shoulders absurdly too wide.
He and Cutter at once entered into an excited conversation as to the
ownership of a certain steer.

"Why, the brand----"

"Ach, Gott, der brendt," Hooven clasped his head, "ach, der brendt, dot
maks me laugh some laughs. Dot's goot--der brendt--doand I see um--shoor
der boole mit der bleck star bei der vore-head in der middle oaf. Any
someones you esk tell you dot is mein boole. You esk any someones. Der
brendt? To hell mit der brendt. You aindt got some memorie aboudt does
ting I guess nodt."

"Please step aside, gentlemen," said young Vacca, who was still making
the rounds of the floor.

Hooven whirled about. "Eh? What den," he exclaimed, still excited,
willing to be angry at any one for the moment. "Doand you push soh, you.
I tink berhapz you doand OWN dose barn, hey?"

"I'm busy, I'm very busy." The young man pushed by with grave
preoccupation.

"Two quarts 'n' a half. Two quarts 'n' a half."

"I know better. That's all rot."

But the barn was filling up rapidly. At every moment there was a rattle
of a newly arrived vehicle from outside. Guest after guest appeared
in the doorway, singly or in couples, or in families, or in garrulous
parties of five and six. Now it was Phelps and his mother from Los
Muertos, now a foreman from Broderson's with his family, now a gayly
apparelled clerk from a Bonneville store, solitary and bewildered,
looking for a place to put his hat, now a couple