noon
Already the thought of the dance was in their heads , and its tripping in their feet , and they sang through the lanes . They waylaid strangers coming into Bugletown and drew contributions of silver from them , according to custom , and all they did went to a gay measure . By the time the gentry , both of the place itself and of outlying regions , were assembled for the dance every house in the main streets of the grey little old town was decked with boughs , its front and back doors opened wide for the dancers , who at the Flora always danced through every house set hospitably open for their passage . The band , that all day long plays but the one tune , hour after hour , was gathered together by noon , sleek and not yet heated , their trumpets shining in the sun , their fiddles glossy as their well-oiled hair , their big drum round as the portly figure of the bandmaster himself . Already , in many a bedchamber , young women had twirled this way and that before the mirror , studying the set of taffetas and tarletan , or young men had polished their high beavers anxiously against the sleeves of their brightest broadcloth frock coats . In speckless kitchens housewives prepared their cakes and cream , and the masters saw to the drawing of the cider , and , perhaps , tasted it , to make sure that it had not soured overnight . And in each heart different words were running to the Flora Day tune , words that suited with each heart 's measure .