'You
must have your way, I see. We are not three miles from Bedford by
this very road.'
'Done!' cried I. 'Bedford be it!'
I tucked his arm under mine, possessed myself of the valise, and
walked him off unresisting. Presently we came to an open piece of
country lying a thought downhill. The road was smooth and free of
ice, the moonshine thin and bright over the meadows and the
leafless trees. I was now honestly done with the purgatory of the
covered cart; I was close to my great-uncle's; I had no more fear
of Mr. Dudgeon; which were all grounds enough for jollity. And I
was aware, besides, of us two as of a pair of tiny and solitary
dolls under the vast frosty cupola of the midnight; the rooms
decked, the moon burnished, the least of the stars lighted, the
floor swept and waxed, and nothing wanting but for the band to
strike up and the dancing to begin. In the exhilaration of my
heart I took the music on myself -
'Merrily danced the Quaker's wife,
And merrily danced the Quaker.'
I broke into that animated and appropriate air, clapped my arm
about Dudgeon's waist, and away down the hill at a dancing step!
He hung back a little at the start, but the impulse of the tune,
the night, and my example, were not to be resisted. A man made of
putty must have danced, and even Dudgeon showed himself to be a
human being.
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