Sister Angelica joined her at the window. They could not only see but hear all that was going on below. With the garbage house as a stage-setting and background to the performance, Flibbertigibbet was courtesying low to her audience; the skirt of her scant gingham dress was held in her two hands up and out to its full extent. The orphans crouched on the pavement in a triple semi-circle in front of her. "All this rigmarole comes of the theatre," said Sister Agatha grimly. "Well, where's the harm? She is only living it all over again and giving the others a little pleasure at the same time. Dear knows, they have little enough, poor things." Sister Agatha made no reply; she was listening intently to 208's orders. The little girl had risen from her low courtesy and was haranguing the assembled hundreds: "Now watch out, all of yer, an' when I do the minute yer can clap yer hands if yer like it; an' if yer want some more, yer must clap enough to split yer gloves if yer had any on, an' then I'll give yer the coon dance; an' then if yer like _that_, yer can play yer gloves are busted with clappin' an' stomp yer feet--" "But we can't," Freckles entered her prosaic protest, "'cause we're squattin'." "Well, get up then, yer'll have to; an' then if you stomp awful, an' holler 'On-ko--on-ko!'--that's what they say at the thayertre--I'll give yer somethin' else--" "Wot?" demanded 206 suspiciously. "Don't yer wish I'd tell!" said 208, and began the minuet. It was marvellous how she imitated every graceful movement, every turn and twist and bow, every courtesy to the imaginary partner--Freckles had failed her entirely in this role--whose imaginary hand she held clasped high above her head; her clumsy shoes slid over the flagging as if it had been a waxed floor under dainty slippers. There was an outburst of applause; such an outburst that had the audience really worn gloves, every seam, even if French and handsewed, must have cracked under the healthy pressure. 208 beamed and, throwing back her head, suddenly flung herself into the coon dance which, in its way, was as wild and erratic as the minuet had been stately and methodical. Wilder and wilder grew her gyrations--head, feet, legs, shoulders, hair, hands, arms, were in seemingly perpetual motion. The audience grew wildly excited. They jumped up, shouting "On-ko--on-ko!" and accompanied their shouts with the stamping of feet. A dexterous somersault on the dancer's part ended the performance; her cheeks were flushed with exercise and excitement, her black mane was loosened and tossed about her shoulders. The audience lost their heads and even 206 joined in the prolonged roar: "On-ko, 208--on-ko-o-o-oor! On-ko, Flibbertigibbet--some more--some more!" "It's perfectly disgraceful," muttered Sister Agatha, and made a movement to leave the window; but Sister Angelica laid a gently detaining hand on her arm.