The
small boudoirs, nooks, and corners, which were scattered here and there
with lavish hand, did excellent duty as flirtation-boxes for those of
the dancers who needed that refreshment; the only drawback being that
one was never quite sure of privacy, on account of the complicated
system of doors and entries that prevailed.
But, in spite of all objections, a dance at Abbie's was the rallying-cry
of the community. All the respectable people in town put on their newest
clothes--and if they were new it did not so much matter what the style
might be--and thronged, on foot or in wagon, to the boarding-house door.
They came to have a good time, and they always succeeded in their
object. What pigeon-wings were performed! what polkas perpetrated! what
waltzes wrecked! How the long lines of the Virginia Reel, or "On the
Road to Boston," extended through the hall from end to end, and how the
couples twisted, whirled, and scooted between them! How the call-man,
with his violin under his chin, stopped playing to vociferate his
orders, or anathematize some bewildered pair! How the old folks, sitting
on chairs and benches along the walls, nodded and smiled and mumbled to
one another as the ruddy faces of their descendants passed and repassed
before them, and spoke to one another of like scenes thirty, or forty,
or fifty years ago! How happy everybody was, and what a jolly noise they
made!
As Cornelia and her papa approached the house, every window was alight,
above and below.
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