"I've seen that old man," Aunt Vic said. "He's only a half brother to Miss Dink. Lives way over yonder the other side of Millers Crossing--down below the state line." "I tell you he can sure scald-the-dog! Don't know when to slow down, much less stop." "He's a mean man! Pouring hot water on a poor dog!" I shouted. "Bandershanks, that's just a saying! Means he's plain talented when it comes to a fiddle." "Oh. Jim-Bo, hurry and get to the dancing part!" "Yeah, I'm coming to that right now—soon's I clear the floor and sprinkle down the sand." "What?" "You see, on the Saturday of the dance, folks have to move out the beds and dresser and table—or whatever stuff they've got in their front room—to sorta clear the floor so there'll be plenty of space for dancing. All they leave is three or four straight chairs over in the corner for the fiddlers. And sometimes the lady of the house spreads a thick layer of white sand on the floor, just before everybody gets there. That way, she can get her floors tramped clean while the dancing is going on! Soon as the musicians come, they tune up. Then they strike up the music and six or seven couples start dancing. "Casey and Hi and Uncle Hiram play and play. Then they rest. And while they're resting, somebody takes up the collection of money to pay them. That's me! I get my hat and walk around through the crowd. The boys drop in a dime or two bits, or whatever they want to. After a while the music starts again. "All the young sprouts who ain't too bashful—and the ones who ain't made many trips out behind the house to find a bottle—ask the pretty girls to dance again. And away they go! This lasts half an hour or so." "Then what?" "Then the fiddlers have to rest again, and I pass the hat again. If the dancers don't want to pay much, why the musicians don't feel like playing much. Sometimes I have to call out: 'The more money in the hat, boys, the sweeter goes the songs!' Or, I say: 'Pay your fiddlers, boys, and y'all can call the tunes!'" "Say, Casey, ain't you got that thing tuned yet?" "Yep! I'm all set now, Jim-Bo." Casey stuck his fiddle under his chin and edged his chair over closer to the lamp. "What do y'all wanta hear first? Bandershanks, what do you say?" "I don't know." "Why don't y'all start off with 'Turkey in the Straw,' Aunt Vic said, "and then do 'Arkansas Traveler.'" So, they played some lively tunes. All of them sounded pretty, but I couldn't tell which was which. Then Casey said, "Jim-Bo, sing her the one about being an old maid!" "Yeah, Casey, that's a good one. Bandershanks, you're gonna like this song. It's called 'The Old Maid's Lament.' Hi, gim'me a few chords to help me along." Hi started plucking the guitar strings and patting his foot. And Jim-Bo sang: My papa tells me I'm pretty, But I'm sadly much afraid, If Pa don't put down that shotgun, I'll go to my grave an old maid. The boys never come a-courtin'; They dare not darken our door. O please go find me a—