“Gone the round! I should think us hadn’t!” said Mr. Torp. “Bain’t what used to be, this here fair! I do mind when ’twere so thick wi’ gipoos and suchlike, that a person could scarce move. But Gerdie and I will see summat, don’t ’ee fear! They whirligigs⁠ ⁠… why there ain’t a blessed season since her was a mommet that we ain’t rid in they things; is there, my chuck?”

“No, there isn’t, Father. Goodbye, Miss Gault!” she added, with a straight, confiding, grateful glance at her friend’s friend. “I’ll be at home all tomorrow afternoon, Wolf,” she murmured, as she smoothed out her gloves and buttoned her jacket.

Mr. Torp caught the word. “So she shall be!” he cried emphatically. “I be a turble stern man, for ordering they to do what they’ve set their hearts on doing! Well, goodbye to ’ee, Sir! Goodbye to ’ee, Marm! If all and sundry here were to fling at they coceenuts, there’d be few left, I reckon!”