At the upper end of the room, seated in a
shady bower of holly and evergreens were the two best fiddlers,
and the only harp, in all Muggleton. In all sorts of recesses, and
on all kinds of brackets, stood massive old silver candlesticks
with four branches each. The carpet was up, the candles burned
bright, the fire blazed and crackled on the hearth, and merry
voices and light-hearted laughter rang through the room. If any
of the old English yeomen had turned into fairies when they
died, it was just the place in which they would have held their revels.
If anything could have added to the interest of this agreeable
scene, it would have been the remarkable fact of Mr. Pickwick's
appearing without his gaiters, for the first time within the
memory of his oldest friends.
'You mean to dance?' said Wardle.
'Of course I do,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Don't you see I am
dressed for the purpose?' Mr. Pickwick called attention to his
speckled silk stockings, and smartly tied pumps.
'YOU in silk stockings!' exclaimed Mr. Tupman jocosely.
'And why not, sir--why not?' said Mr. Pickwick, turning
warmly upon him.
'Oh, of course there is no reason why you shouldn't wear
them,' responded Mr.
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