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“Sure,” nodded Bard. “I’ve done the same thing many a time when I was your age.”

“And the next night,” continued William proudly, “me and Dave was up to Ras Livermore’s harvest dance. That hoe-down lasted till five in the mornin’. I can see Dave yet, sweatin’ through the whole thing—never missed a dance.”

“Wonder if Ras is goin’ to put on a shin-dig this here harvest?” mused Bard.

“He ain’t never missed puttin’ one on since I can remember,” said the hired girl, who had been listening intently.

“The other day,” William remarked, “I saw Ras up in Abe Lavanagh’s barber shop. I ast him if he was goin’ to have a dance this year an’ he hit me an awful clout on the back an’ he says: ‘Better’n’ bigger’n ever, my boy. Come an’ bring yer fleusie. They’ll be plenty to eat, and Alec Dent is goin’ to fiddle again.’”

“And I guess Dave won’t hear the music, neither,” said Bard.

About ten days after his aunt’s visit Mauney received a letter from her, written in Merlton, and containing a crisp, five-dollar bill. “I really haven’t had time to choose a gift for you,” she wrote, “so please buy any little thing you fancy. Your Uncle Neville and I are leaving for New York to-night, and intend sailing the next day for Scotland. Neville is afraid England will be drawn into this terrible European mix-up, and of course, if that happens, he may have to leave his business as he holds a majority in the Scottish Borderers. I’m praying there won’t be a war, but it certainly does look dark.”