Mary and over-harbour had been invited. As Jem's boat swung in
below the lighthouse Rilla desperately snatched off her shoes and donned
her silver slippers behind Miss Oliver's screening back. A glance had
told her that the rock-cut steps climbing up to the light were lined
with boys, and lighted by Chinese lanterns, and she was determined she
would not walk up those steps in the heavy shoes her mother had insisted
on her wearing for the road. The slippers pinched abominably, but nobody
would have suspected it as Rilla tripped smilingly up the steps, her
soft dark eyes glowing and questioning, her colour deepening richly on
her round, creamy cheeks. The very minute she reached the top of the
steps an over-harbour boy asked her to dance and the next moment they
were in the pavilion that had been built seaward of the lighthouse for
dances. It was a delightful spot, roofed over with fir-boughs and hung
with lanterns. Beyond was the sea in a radiance that glowed and
shimmered, to the left the moonlit crests and hollows of the sand-dunes,
to the right the rocky shore with its inky shadows and its crystalline
coves. Rilla and her partner swung in among the dancers; she drew a long
breath of delight; what witching music Ned Burr of the Upper Glen was
coaxing from his fiddle--it was really like the magical pipes of the
old tale which compelled all who heard them to dance.
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