Madelon | Page 7

his flagging fortunes. He arose betimes every morning. Lot, standing well behind the dimity curtain, watched him flinging the snow aside like spray, his handsome face glowing like a rose.
"I suppose he is going to the party at the tavern to-night," Lot murmured. Suddenly his face took on a piteous, wistful look like a woman's; tears stood in his blue eyes. He doubled over with a violent fit of coughing, then went back to his chair and his book.
This party had been the talk of the village for several weeks. It was to be an unusually large one. People were coming from all the towns roundabout. Burr Gordon had been one of the ringleaders of the enterprise. All day long he worked over the preparations, dragging out evergreen garlands from under the snow in the woods, cutting hemlock boughs, and trimming the ball-room in the tavern. Towards night he heard a piece of news which threatened to bring everything to a standstill. The dusk was thickening fast; Burr and the two young men who were working with him were hurrying to finish the decorations before candlelight when Richard Hautville came in. Burr started when he saw him. He looked so like his sister in the dim light that he thought for a moment she was there.
Richard did not notice him at all. He hustled by him roughly and approached the other two young men. "Louis can't fiddle to-night," he announced, curtly. The young men stared at him in dismay.
"What's the trouble?" asked Burr.
"He's hurt his arm," replied Richard; but he still addressed the other two, and made as if he were not answering Burr.
"Broke it?" asked one of the others.
"No; sprained it. He was clearing the snow off the barn roof and the ladder fell. It's all black-and-blue, and he can't lift it enough to fiddle to-night."
The three young men looked at each other.
"What's going to be done?" said one.
"I don't know," said Burr. "There's Davy Barrett, over to the Four Corners--I suppose we might get him if we sent right over."
"You can't get him," said Richard Hautville, still addressing the other two, as if they had spoken. "Louis said you couldn't. His wife's got the typhus-fever, and he's up nights watching with her--won't let anybody else. You can't get him."
"We can't have a ball without a fiddler," one young man said, soberly.
"Maybe Madelon would lilt for the dancing," Burr Gordon said; and then he colored furiously, as if he had startled himself in saying it.
The boy turned on him. "Maybe you think my sister will lilt for you to dance, Burr Gordon!" cried he, and his face blazed white in Burr's eyes, and he shook his slender brown fist.
"Nobody wants your sister to lilt if she isn't willing to," Burr returned, in a hard voice; and he snatched up a hemlock bough, and went away with it to the other side of the ball-room.
"My sister won't lilt for you, and you can have your ball the best way you can!" shouted the boy, his angry eyes following Burr. Then he went out of the ball-room with a leap, and slammed the door so that the tavern trembled.
The young men chuckled. "Injun blood is up," said one.
"You'll be scalped, Burr," called the other.
Burr came over to them with an angry stride. "Oh, quit fooling!" said he, impatiently. "What's going to be done?"
"Nothing can be done; we shall have to give the ball up for to-night unless you can get Madelon Hautville to lilt for the dancing," returned one, and the other nodded assent. "That's the state of the case," said he.
Burr scraped a foot impatiently on the waxed floor. "Go and ask her yourself, Daniel Plympton," said he. "I don't see why it has all got to come on to me."
"Can't," replied Daniel Plympton, with a laugh. "Remember the falling out Eugene and I had at the house-raising? I ain't going to his house to ask his sister to lilt for my dancing."
"You, then, Abner Little," said Burr, peremptorily, to the other young man. He had a fair, nervous face, and he was screwing his forehead anxiously over the situation.
"Can't nohow, Burr," said he. "I've got to drive four miles home, and milk, and take care of the horses, and shave, and get dressed, and then drive another three miles for my girl. I'm going to take one of the Morse girls, over at Summer Falls. I haven't got time to go down to the Hautvilles', and that's the truth, Burr."
"You'll have to go yourself, Burr," said Daniel Plympton, with a half-laugh.
"I can't," said Burr, "and I won't, if we give the ball up."
"What will all the out-of-town folks say?"
"I don't care what they say--they can play forfeits."
"Forfeits!" returned Daniel Plympton with scorn. "What's kissing to dancing?" Daniel Plympton was