“I don’t see any sign of bad luck in twins, or triplets either, for my part,” she said hoarsely and loudly.  “They are every one of ’em bound to be whole brothers and sisters.  To my mind, it don’t make any difference how big a family is so long as it ain’t mixed up.”

Ruth and David seized the basket, and escaped—­laughing and running—­carrying it between them.

The spot chosen for this Indian Summer dance in the forest was near Cedar House.  It was one of the natural open spaces, of which there were many in the wilderness, and it overlooked the river.  High walls of thick green leaves enfolded it upon three sides, and it had a broad level floor of greener sward.  It was sun-lit when the shadowed woods were dark.  In the spring the greensward was gay with wild flowers; for it was in these open spaces between the trees that Nature displayed her most brilliant floral treasures which would not bloom in the shade.  In the fall the leafy walls were more brilliant than the flowery sward, and they now rose toward the azure dome, gorgeously hung with bronzed and golden vines, blossoming here and there with vivid scarlet leaves.  Below ran a dazzling border of shrubs—­the sumac, which does not wait for the coming of the frost king to put on its royal livery; the sassafras already gleaming with touches of fire; the wild grape as red as the reddest wine, and rioting over all the rich green; the bright wahoo with its graceful clusters of flame-colored berries overrunning its soberer neighbors; the hazel, the pawpaw, the dog-wood, the red-bud, the spice-wood, the sweet-strife, the angelica.  On the west the velvet turf began to unroll gently downward toward the river.  The quiet stream ran with molten silver on that flawless October day, and deep shadows of royal purple hung curtains of wondrous beauty above the water.  Back under the trees the shadows were darkly blue, bluer even than the cloudless sky arching so high above the tall tree-tops.

Nature indeed always made more preparations and much finer ones, for the dance in the woods than the simple people of the wilderness ever thought of making.  The word merely went from one log house to another, fixing the day for the dance.  The hunters’ daughters with the help of their mothers, filled the big baskets with simple good things on the night before; for the young hunters came very early to go with their sweethearts to the festival, and there was no time to spare on the morning of the dance.  The dancing sometimes began at nine o’clock in the morning.  The three black men from Cedar House who played for the dancing were in their places long before that hour, with their instruments already in tune.  One had an old fiddle, another the remnant of a guitar, and the third a clumsy iron triangle which he had made himself.  Nevertheless they were famous for their dance music and known throughout the wilderness to all the dancers.  Those old-time country fiddlers—­all of them, black or white—­how wonderful they