230 Old Bays on the Farm 



first question the young folks would ask one an- 

 other when they gathered for a dance at a neigh- 

 bour's home. 



''Not here yet, my gracious, hope he won't dis- 

 appoint us," I think I hear Marthy Ellen say. 



What an anxious time it was if he came late. 

 And talk about a welcome guest. When Si came 

 in with the fiddle wrapped in an old shawl the boys 

 would take it from him as carefully as they'd 

 handle a baby, and the girls would lead him to the 

 warmest place at the fire and actually hold his 

 hands in theirs to take the chill out of them. 



The sound of tuning and scraping the prelude 

 to the melodious outburst of ''Money Musk," 

 *'The Arkansaw Traveller," or some other fine 

 old classic would bring everybody to their feet. 



There were some terribly violent dancers in 

 those pioneer days and I've seen with my own eyes 

 a full bucket of dust swept up from a floor the 

 morning after a "hoedown." The dust was 

 ground wood which the nails in the dancers ' boots 

 had worn off the floor. It was not because the boys 

 were not light-footed or light-hearted then, but 

 for the reason that boot soles were nailed on and 

 that reels and jigs were in high favour. 



There have been great men — great Canadians — 

 who loved the fiddle, maybe I should use the word 

 violin. Sir John A. Macdonald loved violin music 

 and Alex McKenzie was fond of a Scotch reel 

 danced to its music. There is a legend to the effect 

 that a member of one of our first Legislative 



