She took my hand and ran with me to the village market-place, delighted to make her lovers scamper after her; there we found that the old people had already piled up the fagots and straw of the bonfire. Brulette, being the first to arrive, was called to set fire to it, and soon the flames darted higher than the church porch. We had no music to dance by until Carnat's son, named François, came along with his bagpipe; and he was very willing to play, for he, too, like the rest, was putting his best foot foremost to please Brulette. So we opened the ball joyously, but after a minute or two everybody cried out that the music tired their legs. François Carnat was new at the business, and though he did his best, we found we couldn't get along. He let us make fun of him, however, and kept on playing,--being, as I suppose, rather glad of the practice, as it was the first time he had played for people to dance. Nobody liked it, however, and when the young men found that dancing, instead of resting their tired legs, only tired them more, they talked of bidding good-night or spending the evening in the tavern. Brulette and the other girls exclaimed against that, and told us we were unmannerly lads and clodhoppers. This led to an argument, in the midst of which, all of a sudden, a tall, handsome fellow appeared, before it could be seen where he came from. "Hallo there, children!" he cried, in such a loud tone that it drowned our racket and forced us to listen. "If you want to go on dancing, you shall. Here's a bagpiper who will pipe for you as long as you like, and won't ask anything for his trouble. Give me that," he said to François Carnat, taking hold of his bagpipe, "and listen; it may do you good, for though music is not my business, I know more about it than you." Then, without waiting for François's consent, he blew out the bag and began to play, amid cries of joy from the girls and with many thanks from the lads.