"Here I stand all ragged and dirty, Kiss me quick, or I'll run like a turkey." These lines were supposed to rhyme. When Aleck Tilley essayed to comply with her request, she tried to run like a turkey, but was stopped in time. The good taste of people who enjoy society novels will decide at once that these boisterous, unrefined sports are not a promising beginning. It is easy enough to imagine heroism, generosity and courage in people who dance on velvet carpets; but the great heroes, the world's demigods, grew in just such rough social states as that of Ohio in the early part of this century. There is nothing more important for an over-refined generation than to understand that it has not a monopoly of the great qualities of humanity, and that it must not only tolerate rude folk, but sometimes admire in them traits that have grown scarce as refinement has increased. So that I may not shrink from telling that one kissing-play took the place of another until the excitement and merriment reached a pitch which would be thought not consonant with propriety by the society that loves round-dances with _roués_, and "the German" untranslated--though, for that matter, there are people old-fashioned enough to think that refined deviltry is not much better than rude freedom, after all. Goodwin entered with the hearty animal spirits of his time of life into the boisterous sport; but there was one drawback to his pleasure--Patty Lumsden would not play. He was glad, indeed, that she did not; he could not bear to see her kissed by his companions. But, then, did Patty like the part he was taking in the rustic revel? He inly rejoiced that his position as the blindfold Justice, meting out punishment to the owner of each forfeit, saved him, to some extent, the necessity of going through the ordeal of kissing. True, it was quite possible that the severest prescription he should make might fall on his own head, if the pawn happened to be his; but he was saved by his good luck and the penetration which enabled him to guess, from the suppressed chuckle of the seller, when the offered pawn was his own. At last, "forfeits" in every shape became too dull for the growing mirth of the company. They ranged themselves round the room on benches and chairs, and began to sing the old song: "Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow-- Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow-- You nor I, but the farmers, know Where oats, peas, beans, and barley grow. "Thus the farmer sows his seed, Thus he stands and takes his ease, Stamps his foot, and claps his hands, And whirls around and views his lands. "Sure as grass grows in the field, Down on this carpet you must kneel, Salute your true love, kiss her sweet, And rise again upon your feet."