my limbs.

There was an eager, anticipative move on the part of the negroes. They
nudged each other, and whispered, grinned broadly, and shifted their
positions to where they could obtain an unobstructed view. Salome stood
bareheaded, with arms akimbo, waiting for the music. The travelling suit
had been discarded, and she was dressed in a simple blue dimity frock
which showed the perfect curves of her figure to charming advantage.
Uncle Zeb, with characteristic leisure, was in no hurry to begin. He
twisted the screws and thrummed the strings in a very wise manner. At
length the instrument was tuned to his satisfaction, and then his
claw-like fingers began to move with astonishing rapidity. I looked at
Salome. She was standing perfectly still. Then, as the music quickened,
I saw her supple body begin to sway, like a lily's stem when a zephyr
breathes upon it. Her hands dropped to her sides, and daintily lifting
her gown above her feet, she began to dance. Gently at first, and with
such ease that she barely moved. Then the step receded, advanced, and
grew faster. Her tiny feet twinkled, and tapped the earth in perfect
time and rhythm. Such living grace I had never looked upon! The bending
form, the flushed face, and the dancing feet, the grouped negroes and
the old musician,--the picture was burned into my memory like painting
is burned upon china in a kiln. My breath came quicker, and my face grew
hot. I scarcely knew when she stopped, but for the wild cheers of the
spectators. Then, flushed and laughing, she came and cast herself upon
the bench by Uncle Zeb.

"Yo' do it better eb'ry time, chile!" declared the old fellow, highly
delighted that she had danced to his playing.

"And you gave it better than ever before! Did I shock you, Mr. Stone?"
She turned to me with a look of deep contrition.

I sat down beside her, and spoke my mind.

"I never saw anything like it. But don't fear that you shocked me. I
wish that I could see the same thing every evening."

"You're good not to mind it. Mother and father think it sweet, and I
dance for them sometimes. Now, if you don't mind, we will go back. I'm a
little tired to-night from my journey. Good-night, Uncle Zeb," she
patted the old man's hand. "Good-night, Lindy, Jane, Dinah, Sambo,
Tom--all of you!" She waved her hand, and, to a chorus of answering
good-nights, we moved away.

X

The grandfather's clock which stood in the hall struck twelve. My eyes
seemed