exclaimed, and she drew them both to her and kissed them again
and again.

It was a real old-fashioned country dance that followed the wedding of
Katie Duncan and Will Devitt. The ceremony was performed by Father
Doyle in the early morning, and all afternoon the preparations for the
evening were being rushed to completion with tireless energy.

"Katie's the last o' my children, an' I'll give her a fittin'
send-off," Nancy explained to Sophia Dodona, and her words were not
idly spoken.

The doctor's wife was in the kitchen, superintending the baking. As a
result, such an array of good things to eat had never before graced the
modest board. The task of decorating was in the care of Will Devitt
and his bride, and a gay dress they were putting on the interior of
their old home. Flags were draped over the walls, evergreens fastened
to cover the door and window-tops, and flowers from the Piper
conservatory were placed wherever space would permit. Nancy had no
especial work, so she assumed the _role_ of general advisor and final
court of appeal. Such a concourse of guests had been invited that it
was doubtful if the accommodation was sufficient. But, as Will Devitt
suggested, they danced closer together nowadays, so that the room
required would not be so much.

By eight o'clock the merry sleigh-bells were jingling over the Monk
Road. Boys and girls, some older than the term would imply, were
tumbling out of the robes in the glare of the big tin lamp, hung to the
gable end, which Nancy had borrowed from the church gate. The fiddlers
arrived early, and after a warm at the hall stove, began tuning up on
the improvised platform at the end of the parlor. The floor manager, a
tall young Irishman named O'Connell, raised his voice above the babel
of talking and laughing, and proclaimed the opening number.

"Partners fer the Lancers!" he shouted.

A hush ensued, and Sophia Dodona and her staff came from the kitchen to
see the start off.

"No, doctor, I'm too ould," Nancy was saying to Dr. Dodona, who wished
to set the pace for the younger guests. But her words did not ring
true, and amidst the hearty plaudits of the rest she took the doctor's
arm. The others fell in line as if by magic, and then the fiddles
began with vim. Oh, how they danced! Everyone, old and
young--quadrilles, reels, polkas, Irish Washerwoman, Old Dan Tucker,
and all. Even Mrs. Conors, after much persuasion, did a jig as it was
performed "whi