The small boudoirs, nooks, and corners, which were scattered here and there with lavish hand, did excellent duty as flirtation-boxes for those of the dancers who needed that refreshment; the only drawback being that one was never quite sure of privacy, on account of the complicated system of doors and entries that prevailed.
But, in spite of all objections, a dance at Abbie's was the rallying-cry of the community.

All the respectable people in town put on their newest clothes--and if they were new it did not so much matter what the style might be--and thronged, on foot or in wagon, to the boarding-house door.
They came to have a good time, and they always succeeded in their object.

What pigeon-wings were performed! what polkas perpetrated! what waltzes wrecked! How the long lines of the Virginia Reel, or "On the Road to Boston," extended through the hall from end to end, and how the couples twisted, whirled, and scooted between them! How the call-man, with his violin under his chin, stopped playing to vociferate his orders, or anathematize some bewildered pair! How the old folks, sitting on chairs and benches along the walls, nodded and smiled and mumbled to one another as the ruddy faces of their descendants passed and repassed before them, and spoke to one another of like scenes thirty, or forty, or fifty years ago! How happy everybody was, and what a jolly noise they made! As Cornelia and her papa approached the house, every window was alight, above and below.

The door was thrown hospitably open, and the lamplight streamed forth and ran down the steps, and lay in a long rectangular pool upon the road.

Abbie stood near the entrance, directing the ladies one way and the gentlemen another.