But where was Concordia the while, and where was the Prince? for they were to open the ball. The question was asked repeatedly, and as often remained unanswered. Whispers began to pass around the room. Had there been an elopement? Marcus was there, trying hard to look unconcerned by smoking a short clay pipe, and keeping his hands in their usual place of safety. Every body seemed to look to him for explanation. At length the mystery was cleared up, and very suddenly, for the Prince came bouncing into the room holding Concordia by the hand. The arrival created a sensation. Concordia was literally dazzling. The Prince had clearly been assisting at her toilet. She was covered with beads and jewelry. A magnificent plaid shawl which the Prince had sported through the voyage, and which had two days before suddenly disappeared, now reappeared in the shape of a jaunty jacket, trimmed with eider-down, on Concordia’s graceful shoulders. And then, what shining pantaloons of the softest silver seal-skin! what spotless, snow-white boots inclosed her dainty little feet! But the Prince—ah! what a stunning get-up, to be sure! Sea-boots matching Concordia’s for length, if not in purity of color; a bright scarf across his shoulders and around his waist; a Scotch cap, with a dissipated feather in it—what a picture for a ball-room! No wonder that Marcus grew several shades lighter in color; no wonder that his pipe fell out of his mouth and broke in pieces on the floor; no wonder that he stole out of the room as if the place were too hot for him, and should show himself no more in the ball-room that night! “Strike up!” shouted the Prince, bringing down a sea-boot on the floor. “Rat-tat-a-tat” went the keg, “cr-r-r-p cr-r-r-p cr-r-r-p” went the cracked fiddle, and then both went in to do their best and win; but the keg, having got the lead, kept it, and the cracked fiddle was nowhere. When both had become well warmed up in the race, the Prince brought down his sea-boot again, making the old carpenter-shop fairly quake and tremble; then, with a shout which was probably taken for an American war-whoop, he seized Concordia by the waist; others followed his example, and never did “Pop goes the Weasel” do duty before to such a whirl as followed. [Illustration: CONCORDIA DRESSED FOR THE BALL.]