a locomotive headlight from town to light the revels, and he
kept skulking about as if he feared the mere light from it might set his
new barn on fire. His wife, on the contrary, was cordial to every one,
was animated and even gay. The deep salmon colour in her cheeks burned
vividly, and her eyes were full of life. She gave the piano over to the
fat Swedish heiress, pulled her father away from the corner where he
sat gossiping with his cronies, and made him dance a Bohemian dance with
her. In his youth Joe had been a famous dancer, and his daughter got
him so limbered up that every one sat around and applauded them. The old
ladies were particularly delighted, and made them go through the dance
again. From their corner where they watched and commented, the old women
kept time with their feet and hands, and whenever the fiddles struck up
a new air old Mrs. Svendsen's white cap would begin to bob.

Clara was waltzing with little Eric when Nils came up to them, brushed
his brother aside, and swung her out among the dancers. "Remember how
we used to waltz on rollers at the old skating rink in town? I suppose
people don't do that any more. We used to keep it up for hours. You
know, we never did moon around as other boys and girls did. It was dead
serious with us from the beginning. When we were most in love with each
other, we used to fight. You were always pinching people; your fingers
were like little nippers. A regular snapping turtle, you were. Lord, how
you'd like Stockholm! Sit out in the streets in front of cafes and talk
all night in summer, just like a reception--officers and ladies and
funny English people. Jolliest people in the world, the Swedes, once you
get them going. Always drinking things--champagne and stout mixed,
half-and-half, serve it out of big pitchers, and serve plenty. Slow
pulse, you know; they can stand a lot. Once they light up, they're
glowworms, I can tell you."

"All the same, you don't really like gay people."

"_I_ don't?"

"No; I could tell that when you were looking at the old women there this
afternoon. They're the kind you really admire, after all; women like
your mother. And that's the kind you'll marry."

"Is it, Miss Wisdom? You'll see who I'll marry, and she won't have a
domestic virtue to bless herself with. She'll be a snapping turtle,
and she'll be a match for me. All the same, they're a fine bunch of old
dames over there. You admire them yourself.

"No, I don't; I detest th