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For the past three years it had been one of the bright spots in Mauney’s life and so, on the day of the dance, he brought downstairs his best suit of clothes for the hired girl to sponge and press. The men did not get in from the grain field until seven o’clock.

“Me and Annie’ll manage the milkin’ to-night,” Bard generously announced, as they ate supper. “Snowball’s goin’ too. Soon’s yuh get through eatin’, Maun, go bed the horses, and, Bill, you an’ Snowball pump the cows some water an’ draw the binder under the machine shed. Then hitch up old Charlie, jump into yer boiled shirts, and get up to Ras’s.”

“Ain’t you goin’, Dad?” William asked.

“No. I’m goin’ over to see William Henry an’ make him an offer on his farm. Annie’ll have to stay here an’ look after the house. I’m gettin’ too old fer this here dancin’ business anyway. I used to be able to stay with the best of ’em, Bill, but a plug o’ chewing tobacco is about as much dissipation as I can stand now.”

By nine o’clock Mauney, with his brother and Snowball, were driving up through Beulah and turning at the end of the village along the Stone Road. Three miles through the darkening landscape brought them nearer a cluster of pine trees behind which Livermore’s large frame house could be seen with every window alight. Between the trees were suspended yellow Japanese lanterns in long, bellying rows, beneath which could be seen the moving white gowns of women and the dark forms of men standing in groups. Buggy-loads of people were constantly arriving and being directed by Livermore who, dressed in an old-fashioned cut-away suit, was strutting about as actively as a man of thirty. A congestion of buggies at the lane entrance required William to pull up the horse, and wait his turn.