To make amends for the abundant laughter in the striped
marquee, Arthur clapped his hands continually and
cried “Bravo!” But Ben had one admirer
whose eyes followed his movements with a fervid gravity
that equalled his own. It was Martin Poyser,
who was seated on a bench, with Tommy between his
legs.
“What dost think o’ that?” he said
to his wife. “He goes as pat to the music
as if he was made o’ clockwork. I used to
be a pretty good un at dancing myself when I was lighter,
but I could niver ha’ hit it just to th’
hair like that.”
“It’s little matter what his limbs are,
to my thinking,” re-turned Mrs. Poyser.
“He’s empty enough i’ the upper story,
or he’d niver come jigging an’ stamping
i’ that way, like a mad grasshopper, for the
gentry to look at him. They’re fit to die
wi’ laughing, I can see.”
“Well, well, so much the better, it amuses ’em,”
said Mr. Poyser, who did not easily take an irritable
view of things. “But they’re going
away now, t’ have their dinner, I reckon.
Well move about a bit, shall we, and see what Adam
Bede’s doing. He’s got to look after
the drinking and things: I doubt he hasna had
much fun.”
The Dance
Arthur had chosen the entrance-hall for the ballroom:
very wisely, for no other room could have been so
airy, or would have had the advantage of the wide
doors opening into the garden, as well as a ready entrance
into the other rooms. To be sure, a stone floor
was not the pleasantest to dance on, but then, most
of the dancers had known what it was to enjoy a Christmas
dance on kitchen quarries. It was one of those
entrance-halls which make the surrounding rooms look
like closets—with stucco angels, trumpets,
and flower-wreaths on the lofty ceiling, and great
medallions of miscellaneous heroes on the walls, alternating
with statues in niches. Just the sort of place
to be ornamented well with green boughs, and Mr. Craig
had been proud to show his taste and his hothouse
plants on the occasion. The broad steps of the
stone staircase were covered with cushions to serve
as seats for the children, who were to stay till half-past
nine with the servant-maids to see the dancing, and
as this dance was confined to the chief tenants, there
was abundant room for every one. The lights were
charmingly disposed in coloured-paper lamps, high
up among green boughs, and the farmers’ wives
and daughters, as they peeped in, believed no scene
could be more splendid; they knew now quite well in
what sort of rooms the king and queen lived, and their
thoughts glanced with some pity towards cousins and
acquaintances who had not this fine opportunity of
knowing how things went on in the great world.
The lamps were already lit, though the sun had not
long set, and there was that calm light out of doors
in which we seem to see all objects more distinctly
than in the broad day.
