There rose a succession of scenes before his fancy, lighted up with a perhaps unreal halo, such as affection casts over the past, associated with pride at the recollection of a daring and a dashing youth. All at once Winefred traversed the kitchen. Job caught his violin, and signalled to her with the bow. 'Child,' said he, 'see if you can dance.' He threw a crimson kerchief on the floor. 'Step on that. Trip and twirl in the midst, and do not ruffle the rag. I have seen it done, and by men.' The girl looked at him incredulously, and with perplexity. That was not dancing, she thought――not such as she had conceived dancing to be. 'Olver,' said Job, and he tapped the ferryman on the head with his fiddlestick, 'show the little maid how it is to be done.' 'I can't dance,' replied Olver sullenly, 'and what is more, I won't be knocked about the head.' 'Yes, you will,' retorted Rattenbury, and struck again, contemptuously. 'You will do and endure anything for a glass of grog and beefsteak pudding. See! Jane shall bring in the bowl and I will brew. The kettle is singing. Dance you shall, or drink only small beer. Stand up.' Then he put the fiddle under his chin, and struck up a hornpipe. The clumsy, sulky boatman was constrained to go through some of the evolutions of a dance, to the measure played by Captain Rattenbury. But he did it badly, and Job laid his violin on his knees with a gesture of impatience. 'It is like a porpoise rolling,' said he. 'Come, Jane, fetch the bowl and lemons and sugar. I have promised it. After the brew I will teach the little wench how to perform.' He stood up, signed to Mrs. Marley, who took a large iron-stone china basin from the dresser, wiped it out and set it on the table. Then from a cupboard she brought the condiments, and Job from a window box produced fine old Jamaica rum. Next, fetching from a drawer a punch-ladle of whalebone, with silver bowl into which was let a guinea, he roared out: 'Fill me a bowl, a mighty bowl, Large as my capacious soul. Vast as my thirst is, let it have Depth enough to be my grave. ――I mean the grave of all my care, For I design to bury it there.' He flourished his ladle as Mrs. Marley brought in hot water from the puffing kettle. The fragrance diffused itself through the room, as the ripe, dark rum was poured in, the nutmeg grated, and the slices of lemon were thrown in to swim on the aromatic, generous liquor.