She had white roses on the front of her gown,
and in her hair, and pink ones in her cheeks; her eyes were like brown
diamonds, and she had little white satin slippers, for all the world
like Cinderella. They were a present from her Grandmother Anstey, over
at Bow Mills. Her other grandmother, Mrs. Bowen, gave her the dress,
so her father and mother could lay out all they wanted to on the
supper; and a handsome supper it was. Then after supper they danced.
It would have done your heart good, Miss Vesta, to see that little
bride dance. Ah! she is a pretty creature. There was another young
woman, too, who played the piano. Kate, they called her, but I don't
know what her other name was. Anyway, she had an eye like black
lightning stirred up with a laugh, and a voice like the 'Fisherman's
Hornpipe.'"
He took up his fiddle, and softly, delicately, played a few bars of
that immortal dance. It rippled like a woman's laugh, and Melody
smiled in instant sympathy.
"I wish I had seen her," she cried. "Did she play well, Rosin?"
"She played so that I knew she must be either French or Irish!" the
fiddler replied. "No Yankee ever played dance-music in that fashion; I
made bold to say to her, as we were playing together, 'Etes-vous
compatriote?'
"'More power to your elbow,' said she, with a twinkle of her eye, and
she struck into 'Saint Patrick's Day in the Morning.
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