Thus appealed to, the stout, handsome matron threw aside her palm-leaf fan and held out her hands to the boy. Although she had but reached that age when those of the opposite sex are considered just in their prime, she, being old enough to be the mother of the twenty-year-old daughter at her side, was considered too old to be one of the dancers. But at the hearty invitation she too became one of the tripping throng and entered into the fun with all the sweetness and spontaneity in voice and gesture which made herself and others forget how far her Spring was past. The waltz now became a waltz indeed. The musicians played faster and faster and the girl clapped her hands as the couple whirled round and round, as though nothing on earth could stop them. “Please let’s stop. I beg you to stop, now!” cried the matron, panting for breath but the enraptured youth paid no heed to her pleadings, but swifter and swifter grew his pace, wilder and wilder his gyrations, till, fortunately for her, he encountered an unexpected post and was brought to a sudden halt. The waltz, too, had come to an end, and the onlookers clapped their hands in hearty applause. Even the veterans of the community seemed to enjoy the spirit of the sport. Elliott particularly noted the rapt enjoyment of a group of old men silver haired, ruddy skinned, keen eyed, who once seen, remained penciled upon the gazer’s memory--each head a worthy sketch. These patriarchs were bent with toil as well as age, their hands were roughened by labor, the Sunday broadcloth became them less than the week-day short coat, yet each figure had a dignity of its own. In one aged man, with snow-white hair, Roman nose and tawny, beardless face, the staunch Southerner of old lived again. Here was that calm and resolution betokening the indomitable spirit, the unswerving faith that led men to brave fire and sword, ruin and desolation, rather than surrender principle. In strong relief were these sombre figures of the group set forth by the light, airy frocks and the young faces and graceful forms of the pretty girls, with beflowered hats coquettishly perched above their heads, or swinging from their hands. One could step easily from the verge of the white holiday keeper to the confines of the pleasure loving black. But it was a great distance--like the crossing of a vast continent--between the habitats of alien races.