Jane Lends A Hand Part 17

Once past the gate, a long and rather narrow road descended gradually between two snake-fences to the hollow where the big, rambling, comfortable old homestead stood. The road leading from the house to the barn was illuminated with colored lanterns, which threw weird tints over the faces of the masqueraders as they sped past.

Already a dozen sleighs had emptied on the wooden platform in front of the big sliding doors; already the huge room, with its high ceiling crossed by solid rafters, was half full of people. It was gaily decorated. Ropes of cedar entwined the rafters, branches of holly were tacked to the walls, colored lanterns, with sly sprays of mistletoe hanging from them, dangled from the ceiling. A huge fire blazed in a great brick fireplace, in front of which the older men had collected to drink a toast with Mr. Webster. And up in the erstwhile hayloft, which now did duty as a sort of musicians' gallery, a negro band was already playing "Old Uncle Ned," with such irresistible liveliness that many dancers had begun to spin about the floor without having paused to take off their heavy wraps.

For a New Year's party at the Websters to be anything but jolly,-superlatively merry-was an unheard of thing. Indeed it could not have been otherwise. Theirs was quite the merriest family in the world.

To see the four big boys, with their irresistible grins, and the two rosy-cheeked bright-eyed girls, and Mrs. Webster, a dignified-looking woman, with a pair of twinkling eyes, and a lively tongue, and old Mr.

Webster, rotund and ruddy, was sufficient to dispose the most melancholy soul in the world to jocund mirth.

Around the fire the old wags were cracking jokes and recounting their favorite anecdotes. Then the darkies, grinning from ear to ear, and showing rows of teeth like ears of corn, struck up a Virginia Reel.

"Ah-ha!" cried Mr. Webster. "Choose your partners, gentlemen!" and das.h.i.+ng across the room, he singled out Janey.

"Here's my girl!" and executing the most wonderful bow imaginable, he led "his girl" out onto the floor. The Virginia reel went on at a lively pace, and Mr. Webster, leading with the laughing and muddled Jane, introduced the most remarkable figures, turning the dance into a sort of pot-pourri of all the steps he had learned in his youth, including a cake-walk and a sailor's horn-pipe. Everyone seemed to want to dance and no one seemed to have any difficulty in finding a partner; but the two undisputed belles of the evening were Lily Deacon and-Miss Clementina!

Yes, Miss Clementina, little and wizened and brown as a walnut proved beyond argument her right to boast of having been once the queen of hearts in Frederickstown; and although thirty years and more had pa.s.sed since her cheeks were rosy, and her sharp little elbows had had dimples in them, she still had her faithful admirers, grey-haired, portly gentlemen, a trifle stiff, and a trifle gouty, who still saw in the wiry, black-eyed little old maid, the charmer of auld lang syne. And how outrageously she coquetted, and how everyone applauded when she and the professor danced a schottische together-most gracefully; the professor spinning about, on his red legs, pointing his toes, skipping and sliding in the lively dance with all the sprightliness of a stripling of twenty; and Miss Clementina pirouetting and skipping along beside him, her pink tartalan skirts swirling around her tiny little feet, and her black eyes sparkling in her brown little face, as if saying, "Who says that _my_ day is over!"

But Lily held sway over the youth of the gathering. Every moment she was dancing, light and tireless, as if there were wings on her scarlet heels. But now and then she lost the thread of what her partner was saying, and her blue eyes strayed shyly toward the door. Then suddenly, the bright red color flushed up into her cheeks.

In front of the fire, with a gla.s.s of cider in his hand, and talking to Mr. Webster (who was at last forced to confess himself "a bit winded") stood Mr. Sheridan.

He seemed quite content to stand there listening to his host's reminiscences of his uncle and the times they had had together; and to talk about the various features of country life as compared to life in the city; and to laugh at the droll yarns of the other old gentlemen; and to watch the multi-colored swarm of dancers spinning about to the lively rhythms of the negro music. But as a matter of fact, Mr. Sheridan had, in a remarkably short time singled out one slim figure, and followed it through the kaleidoscopic motion of the crowd.

"Well, sir, I hope you have decided to settle down here for good," said Mr. Webster, heartily.

"I-I haven't exactly decided. But I shall probably be here for some time."

"You have a fine old place there. You don't happen to be thinking of getting rid of any of that land of yours?"

"It all depends," replied Mr. Sheridan vaguely.

"Bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Webster suddenly bethinking himself of his duties. "I'm nearly forgetting that you're not an old fellow like myself."

And the hospitable old soul took his guest by the arm and dragged him off to be presented to the young ladies.

First, Mr. Sheridan danced a lively two-step with the plump but agile Dolly. He enjoyed it, and he enjoyed talking to Dolly, and he enjoyed the music.

Then Dolly, with a wicked twinkle in her eye, said,

"I want to introduce you to one of my dearest friends." A hopeful, eager expression came into Mr. Sheridan's face, until Dolly, greatly enjoying his disappointment (which he hastily concealed under a pleasant smile) betrayed him into the hands of a pallid young lady, wearing a wilted-looking Grecian robe, and a wreath of laurel leaves in her long, scanty, mouse-coloured hair. It was Amelia, the poetess.

These proceedings aroused great interest in a quarter to which none of the guests had given a thought: namely, in the hayloft, or musicians'

gallery. Here since the early part of the evening, Paul had ensconced himself, his long legs dangling over the edge, his chin between his hands, brooding above the jolly turmoil of the dance floor like a large, thoughtful crow; and here several of the younger folk had joined him, disdaining the flighty amus.e.m.e.nts of their elders, and greatly preferring to spend their time in the more solid enjoyment of devouring nuts and raisins and oranges.

Jane was the latest addition to this n.o.ble company. Having ascended the wooden ladder, she slid along the edge of the loft to Paul's side.

"Hullo," she said.

"Hullo," responded Paul, "been having a good time?"

"Yes. What are you doing?"

"Watching."

"It's nice up here. It's near the music. You know, I'd like to learn how to play the ba.s.soon," said Jane.

"Then you probably will. How would the trombone suit you? That seems more your style."

Jane turned up her nose at him, and then without replying focussed her attention on the dancers below.

Suddenly, half laughing and half annoyed she exclaimed,

"Oh, that _is_ too mean of Dolly!"

"What's too mean?"

"Why-oh, she is a wicked-hearted girl!-she _knows_, just as well as I do that the main reason Mr. Sheridan came was so that he might meet Lily Deacon. And she's gone and tied him up with Mealy Amelia!"

"Huh?" said Paul.

"He'll be with Amelia until the dance is _over_!"

"Is that your friend, Sheridan, down there? He's sort of a nice-looking fellow," remarked Paul, condescendingly. "I thought he was about ninety.

Seems a bit glum, doesn't he?"

"Well, you'd be, too, if you had Amelia talking about the infinite with you for a whole evening. I saw Dolly introduce him to her at least half an hour ago, and he hasn't been rescued yet. Dolly did that on purpose-just to tease me!"

"To tease you? Humph, you seem to think yourself a pretty important person, don't you?" observed Paul with a grin.

"Well, I asked Dolly myself please to introduce him to Miss Lily as soon as she could. I _told_ her he was very sad, and needed cheering up-and just see what she's done!"

"I must say you aren't very easy on Amelia. You usually seem to like everyone. What's the matter with her?"

"I _do_ like nearly everyone, but I _do not_ like Amelia. She's a-a hypocrite," said Jane. "She's a _fake_. That's what I don't like about her. I don't like people who write about the stars, and then turn around and say mean, nasty, cattish little things just because they're jealous.

Oh, _poor_ Mr. Sheridan!"

The object of Jane's ardent sympathy really deserved it. He was doing his duty manfully and gallantly; but every now and then a haunted and desperate expression came into his face, as he summoned up all his faculties to respond to Amelia's discourse.

She was trying, by various subtle, melancholy little observations to make him feel that she understood that he was not a happy man, and that he might confide in her. His only escape from this hara.s.sing conversation was to dance with her (tripping at every second step on her Grecian draperies) and-his only escape from the disasters of the dance was to talk to her.

"Paul!" said Jane in a tone of decision, "something must be done."

"Eh?"

"I'll tell you what. _You_ must go down, and ask Amelia to dance with you!"

"_What!_"

"Yes. Now, do an unselfish act, and it shall be returned to you a thousandfold," said Jane, unctuously.

"Not interested in any such bargains," returned Paul.