His pointing finger was not needed.  Sounds of paroxysm drew their attention sufficiently—­sounds most poignant, soul-rending, and lugubrious.  William and Johnnie perceived the large person of Mr. Crooper; he was seated upon the ground, his back propped obliquely against the smoke-house, though this attitude was not maintained constantly.

Facing him, at a little distance, a rugged figure in homely garments stood leaning upon a hoe and regarding George with a cold interest.  The apex of this figure was a volcanic straw hat, triangular in profile and coned with an open crater emitting reddish wisps, while below the hat were several features, but more whiskers, at the top of a long, corrugated red neck of sterling worth.  A husky voice issued from the whiskers, addressing George.

“I seen you!” it said.  “I seen you eatin’!  This here farm is supposed to be a sanitary farm, and you’d ought of knew better.  Go it, doggone you!  Go it!”

George complied.  And three spectators, remaining aloof, but watching zealously, began to feel their lost faith in Providence returning into them; their faces brightened slowly, and without relapse.  It was a visible thing how the world became fairer and better in their eyes during that little while they stood there.  And William saw that his Little Sweethearts had been an inspired purchase, after all; they had delivered the final tap upon a tottering edifice.  George’s deeds at dinner had unsettled, but Little Sweethearts had overthrown—­and now there was awful work among the ruins, to an ironical accompaniment of music from the front yard, where people danced in heaven’s sunshine!

This accompaniment came to a stop, and Johnnie Watson jumped.  He seized each of his companions by a sleeve and spoke eagerly, his eyes glowing with a warm and brotherly light.  “Here!” he cried.  “We better get around there—­this looks like it was goin’ to last all afternoon.  Joe, you get the next dance with her, and just about time the music slows up you dance her around so you can stop right near where Bill will be standin’, so Bill can get her quick for the dance after that.  Then, Bill, you do the same for me, and I’ll do the same for Joe again, and then, Joe, you do it for Bill again, and then Bill for me—­and so on.  If we go in right now and work together we can crowd the rest out, and there won’t anybody else get to dance with her the whole day!  Come on quick!”

United in purpose, the three ran lightly to the dancing-lawn, and Mr. Bullitt was successful, after a little debate, in obtaining the next dance with the lovely guest of the day.  “I did promise big Untle Georgiecums,” she said, looking about her.

“Well, I don’t think he’ll come,” said Joe.  “That is, I’m pretty sure he won’t.”

A shade fell upon the exquisite face.  “No’ty.  Bruvva Josie-Joe!  The Men always tum when Lola promises dances.  Mustn’t be rude!”

“Well—­” Joe began, when he was interrupted by the Swedish lady named Anna, who spoke to them from the steps of the house.  Of the merrymakers they were the nearest.