And of all that company, none beamed more brightly, nor enjoyed himself more, than Charles Pixley, who, having come to curse, had, in most approved fashion, stayed to bless, and had even beaten the prophet’s record by giving away to another the treasure he had desired for himself.

In the usual course of things, after the feasting would have come games and songs until dark.  But that had been adjudged too much of an ordeal by the ladies, and the onus of it was laid upon the youngsters outside.  While Margaret and Miss Penny rested from their labours, and Mrs. Carre and her helpers cleared the rooms for the festivities of the evening, and prepared the milder and more intermittent refections necessary thereto, Graeme and Pixley and the Vicar and others set the children to games and races, for which indeed their previous exertions at the tables had not best fitted them, but which nevertheless, or perhaps on that very account, were provocative of much laughter and merriment.

Then, when it grew dark, and the reluctant youngsters had been cajoled and dragged and packed off to bed, the hitherto-unprovided-for section—­the young men and maidens, all in their best and a trifle shy to begin with—­came flocking in for their share in the festivities, and Orpheus and Terpsichore held the floor for the rest of the night.

And they did dance!  Margaret and Miss Penny and Graeme and Pixley thought they had seen dancing before, but dancing such as this it had never been theirs to witness.

If it lacked anything in grace—­and far be it from me to say so—­it more than made up for all by its inexhaustible energy and tireless enjoyment.  The men had brought their own music in the shape of a concertina, which passed from hand to hand and with which they all seemed on equally friendly terms.

Jokes, laughter, round dances, refreshments, interludes of smokings and gigglings in the darkness of the verandah, occasional more intellectual flights in the shape of songs and recitations,—­mostly of a somewhat lugubrious tendency, to judge by the faces of the auditors, but being mostly in patois they were unintelligible to the British foreigners,—­more dances,—­coats off now, to reduce the temperature of the performers,—­more refreshments, more dances,—­dances with broomsticks held between the partners, over which they slipped and skipped to the tune of caustic comments by the onlookers,—­dances between caps laid on the floor and which must on no account be touched by the dancers.  And always the cry to the musician of the moment was,—­“Faster!  Faster!”—­and the race between Orpheus and Terpsichore—­between the music and the flying feet, grew still more fast and furious.

Now Charles Svendt, as we know, did not look like a dancing man, but dancing was one of the superficial accomplishments in which he excelled.

Miss Penny, also, through much experience with girls, was lighter of foot than she looked.