There were not very many children present, and the cousins felt quite like grown-ups when they danced with Uncle Dick and other young men of his age, the music being furnished by whoever would volunteer to play two-steps and waltzes. Mary felt the necessity of crossing the room a great many times that she might have the pleasant consciousness of the train sweeping behind her. Polly as a dancer did not excel except in funny whirls and figures and in a Spanish dance which she had learned from her father's Mexican servants, and which won her great applause. Molly had danced often enough in this very hall to which she had gone every summer since she could dance at all.
It was Mary's first experience of such an affair where young and old shared the entertainment. Never before had she been to any such assemblage which was not intended for children alone, and while for some time her friends had been slowly converting her to a more flattering view of American ways, this completely won her heart, and at once all her childish home festivities paled before it. In her enthusiasm she turned to Polly and said: "Oh, I do love America!" and Polly, unmindful of her painted face, threw her arms about her and kissed her.
At ten o'clock the guests departed, and after their water trip in a small motor boat, they went stumbling home by the light of the moon.
Luella was there to welcome them, eager to hear all the account of the evening's doings. "You summer folks beat me out!" she exclaimed. "Land! to see you rig up in all this trash and dance them funny dances is as good as a circus. I was watching you through the windows, me and some of the other girls."
"You go 'long," returned Luella, coyly. "I won't tell you whether he was or not." The girls were much interested in the young fisherman who saw Luella home every night, and thought his high-sounding name beautiful. Luella had confided to Polly that they were going to get married some day and that she had already begun to piece her quilts.
It was something of a task to get off their toggery and to rid themselves of paint and powder, but finally the butterfly wings were unfastened, the powder shaken from Mary's locks and the red paint washed from Polly's face and hands. It was during the process of undressing, however, that Mary made a discovery which took away all the joy of her evening. The beautiful shining pin was gone! She clutched the front of her frock where it had been pinned; she examined the fall of lace; she shook out the folds of the skirt. In her distress and fear she commenced to search eagerly around on the floor with her candle.