Carroll nodded laughingly, and went on eating. "Used to--I guess you did! I remember your dancing that at Bud Hamilton's when Bud came of age. Old Noah must have been gone then. It was after the war." "Oh, papa," cried Eddy, in a rapture, "do dance it sometime, won't you?" "I'll tell you what we will all do," cried Major Arms, with enthusiasm, "we'll all go to the City to-morrow night, and we'll see that dance. I tell you it's worth it. It's a queer thing, utterly unlike anything I have ever seen. It is a sort of cross between a cake-walk and an Indian war-dance. Jove! how it carried me back!" Arms began to hum. "That's it, pretty near, isn't it, Arthur?" he asked. "Quite near, I should say," replied Carroll. "Oh, papa, won't you sing and dance it after breakfast?" cried Eddy. "Now, hush up, my son," said Arms. "Your father has the dignity of his position to support. A gentleman doesn't dance nigger dances when he is grown up and the head of a family. It's all very well when he is a boy. But we'll all go to New York to-morrow night and we'll see that dance." "There is a great deal to do," Anna Carroll remarked. "Nonsense!" said the major. "There's time enough. Where are the Sunday papers? I'll see if it is on to-morrow. Have they come yet?" "I am going down to get shaved, and I will bring them up," Carroll said. "Don't they bring them to the door in Banbridge?" asked Arms, wonderingly. "They used when we first came here," said Eddy. "I guess--" Then he stopped in obedience to a look from his aunt. "I will bring them when I come home," repeated Carroll. "Well, we'll all go in to-morrow night, and we'll see that dance," said the major. But when Carroll, on his return from the barber's shop, brought the papers, Major Arms discovered, much to his disappointment, that that particular attraction had been removed from the roof-garden. There was a long and flattering encomium of the song and dance which upheld him in his enthusiasm. "Yes, it was a big thing; you can understand by what it says here," said he, "I was right. I'm mighty sorry it's off." Chapter XXI Anderson on Wednesday evening sat on the porch and saw the people stream by to the wedding. Mrs. Anderson, although it was a very pleasant and warm evening, did not come outside, but sat by the parlor window, well-screened by the folds of the old damask curtain. The wedding was at eight, and by quarter-past seven the people began to pass; by half-past seven the street was quite full of them. It seemed as if all Banbridge was gathering. A church wedding was quite an unusual festivity in the town, and, besides, there had always been so much curiosity with regard to the Carrolls that interest was doubled in this case. His mother called to him softly from the parlor. "There are a great many going, aren't they?" said she.