THE HALF-BREED SCEIP COMMISSION 75 



But the two dancing floors were the chief attraction. These 

 also had been walled and roofed with leafy saplings, their 

 fronts open to the air, and, thronged as they generally were, 

 well repaid a visit. Here the comely brunettes, in moccasins 

 or slippers, their luxuriant hair falling in a braided queue 

 behind their backs, served not only as tireless partners, but 

 as foils to the young men, who were one and all consummate 

 masters of step-dancing, an art which, I am glad to say, was 

 still in vogue in these remote parts. " French-fours " and 

 the immortal " Eed Eiver Jig " were repeated again and 

 again, and, though a tall and handsome young half-breed, 

 who had learned in Edmonton, probably, the airs and graces 

 of the polite world, introduced cotillons and gave " the calls " 

 with vigorous precision, yet his efforts were not thoroughly 

 successful. Snarls arose, and knots and confusion, which he 

 did his best to undo. But it was evident that the hearts of 

 the dancers were not in it. No sooner was the fiddler heard 

 lowering his strings for the time-honoured " Jig " than eyes 

 brightened, and feet began to beat the floor, including, of 

 course, those of the fiddler himself, who put his whole soul 

 into that weird and wonderful melody, whose fantastic glee 

 is so strangly blended with an indescribable master-note of 

 sadness. The dance itself is nothing; it might as well be 

 called a Rigadoon or a Sailor's Hornpipe, so far as the steps 

 go. The tune is everything; it is amongst the immortals. 

 Who composed it ? Did it come from ISTormandy, the ances- 

 tral home of so many French Canadians and of French 

 Canadian song ? Or did some lonely but inspired voyageur, 

 on the banks of Red River, sighing for Detroit or Trois 

 Rivieres — ^for the joys and sorrows of home— give birth to 

 its mingled chords in the far, wild past ? 



As I looked on, many memories recurred to me of scenes 

 like this in which I had myself taken part in bygone days — 

 Eheu! fugaces — in old Red River and the Saskatchewan; 

 and, with these in my heart, I retired to my tent, and gradu- 

 ally fell asleep to the monotonous sound of the familiar yet 

 inexplicable air. 



