It was about a month after this time, on a fine Sunday morning in autumn, that Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, with a young lady who was on a visit to them, and Walter and Lucy, were going to church, and noticed among the people going along the path before them an old woman in a bright red cloak and black bonnet, leaning on a younger woman with a nice warm shawl on, and a little boy cleanly dressed.
"Mama," said Walter, "I do believe that is old Mary Jones, with Davy and his mother."
"And we shall see her in the old place again," said Lucy.
"It really is Mary Jones," answered their mama.
"I am so glad!" said Walter. "This is a happy Sunday morning."
THE VILLAGE FAIR.
THE VILLAGE FAIR.
There could not be a quieter village anywhere than Southbourn, except once a year, when it was full of gaiety, noise, and bustle. Once a year the Fair was held there, and then nobody would have known that it was Southbourn. The cottages that went straggling up the hill were almost hidden from sight by the booths and shows, and nothing of the village could be seen except the church and the clergyman's house.
About half a mile off there lived a little girl named Jessie White, who, together with all the other little girls, and boys too, of the neighbourhood, looked forward to July, the month when the Fair was held, with the greatest pleasure. In that quiet country place they were no fine shops to go to when you wanted to buy anything, and no exhibitions, zoological gardens, and such agreeable places to amuse people; but the Fair came once a year, and for it they saved up their money, and they hoped to enjoy all manner of fine sights when they went to it.