Lizzie, with flaming cheeks, pushed her aside.
"Leave me try, mis'ess; I shall die if I don't." She caught the preacher's hands, and the two leapt about the kitchen.

"I can dance higher than mis'ess!" Farmer Joll looked on with a dazed face.
"Hallelujah!" "Amen!" he said at intervals, quite mechanically.
The pair stood under the bacon rack and began to whirl like dervishes--hands clasped, toes together, bodies leaning back and almost rigid.

They whirled until Taffy's brain whirled with them.
With a louder sob Lizzie let go her hold and tottered back into a chair, laughing hysterically.

The Bryanite leaned against the table, panting.
There was a long pause.

Mrs.Joll took a napkin from the dresser and fell to fanning the girl's face, then to slapping it briskly.
"Get up and lay the table," she commanded; "the preacher'll stay to supper." "Thank 'ee, ma'am, I don't care if I do," said he; and ten minutes later they were all seated at supper and discussing the fall in wheat in the most matter-of-fact voices.