Sandy was a fine
dancer himself, very light on his feet and easy to waltz with--so the
girls made out. When the dancing subject was exhausted Sandy would drag
some hair out of his horse's mane and say, "How's the concertina?" "It's
in there," Kate would answer. Then turning round she would call out,
"J--OE, bring the concer'."
In an instant Joe would strut along with it. And Sandy, for the fiftieth
time, would examine it and laugh at the kangaroo-skin straps that Dave had
tacked to it, and the scraps of brown paper that were plastered over the
ribs of it to keep the wind in; and, cocking his left leg over the pommel
of his saddle, he would sound a full blast on it as a preliminary. Then
he would strike up "The Rocky Road to Dublin", or "The Wind Among the
Barley,", or some other beautiful air, and grind away untiringly until it
got dark--until mother came and asked him if he would n't come in and have
supper. Of course, he always would. After supper he would play some more.
Then there would be a dance.
A ball was to be held at Anderson's one Friday night, and only Kate and
Dave were asked from our place. Dave was very pleased to be invited; it
was the first time he had been asked anywhere, and he began to practise
vigorously.
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