"There were too many people in the inn for me to venture within the door," answered his wife; "but at the outside of the entrance a travelling carriage was standing, whose driver had gone seemingly into the beer-room to get a glass of something. I heard a loud snoring from some one in the back seat; but in the front there was nothing but parcels and packages; so I laid the one youngster softly down on the top of them, and the other I slipped into a horse's manger which was close to the door of the inn."
"Thank our stars!" said worthy Master Hicup, "that we have escaped at the expense of only a good fright."
It was already far past midnight, and still the dance in the salle in the upper inn had not ceased. Never had the dancers been more indefatigable at their hardest work than they were now, as they panted for breath, and glowed with heat. More and more wearied became the musicians, as they wetted their parched throats alternately with beer and brandy.
"Let us have the grandfather's dance for a finish!" cried the boldest dancer--one who was always last at work, and therefore last at the dance--to the young girls, who were preparing to go away. "Holloa! you fiddlers, play us something sprightly, and don't spare either your breadth or your bones. The grandfather's dance! do you hear?" and seizing the hand of his partner, he began to sing in a loud voice,
"When our grandsire took our granddame home, The lady was bride, and he bridegroom."
The player of the clarionet blew until his thin cheeks were puffed out like a drum, and his eyes almost started out of their sockets. The violin-player showed equal zeal in the use of his bow; while the violincello sounded mightily; and the tones of the flute pierced through bones and marrow. When the dance was finished, its hero, wiping the dew from his forehead, addressed his companions in amusement, saying, "All's well that ends well;" and drinking a glass of cold beer, he left the inn, accompanied by the whole party, who went shouting and laughing through the silent village, disturbing the quiet of its inhabitants.
"Young blood is warm," said the landlord, as he heard the noise, and was extinguishing the lights in the salle.
A traveller, who had been prevented by the uproar of the dancers and the sound of music from going to bed, heard the remark of the landlord, and replied, with asperity, "Certainly a noble way of exercising youthful spirits to destroy the night's rest of industrious peasants, to waste the earnings of honest parents, and to ruin their own health. Such a dancing-room is a chapel of Satan, and the landlord and the musicians are the priests."