A bump an’ a bang for his deed sae wrang,
An’ we’ll larn him a lesson for ever sae lang.’
Then, to the full chorus, with complete orchestra of flute and fife, trombone and triangle, tin whistle and ‘sarpint,’ brass pot, pan, and saucepan-lids, the entire procession moved slowly onward.
Mary’s eyes burned bright with exultation as she marched along in the crowd, not letting a single incident of the spectacle escape her notice, and as she watched she too joined in the chorus of ‘Geordie, Geordie ride-the-stang’ without restraint.
The sound of the familiar voice roused the victim from the stupor into which the hustling, peltings, and shoutings had reduced him.
‘Thoo ——,’ he yelled, as he caught sight of her; ‘then it’s thoo that’s at the bottom o’ this? By, but if Aa wes free Aa’d——’ But a stalk of cabbage thrown at a venture by a small boy on the skirts of the crowd here impeded his utterance, and Mary’s voice rang out perhaps more triumphantly than before.
The ‘fancy’ wife, meanwhile, who had at first discreetly retired from public view and looked on at the procession from a distance, had shortly after joined the noisy throng, moved thereto by a sense of isolation, and also by a certain smouldering compunction. She looked around her irresolutely; she felt she had acted precipitately; certainly she was not deriving any advantage from the proceedings, whereas her rival was the leader of the revelry, dancing, clapping her hands, and carrying on like a ‘Maypole lass.’
At this moment Mary inadvertently brushed against her, and in a moment the ‘fancy’ wife turned upon her like a spitfire. Clenching her fists and shouting vituperations, she tried to seize her by the hair. Foiled in this by an adroit swerve of Mary’s under the ‘stang,’ she turned her fury upon Geordie’s bearers, and with such success that to defend themselves they were forced to lower the pole to the ground. ‘Noo, Geordie,’ cried she, promptly thrusting the wooden weapon into his hands, ‘mak’ play wiv it, my man, ho-way,’ and Geordie, realizing he was now free, lunged furiously in all directions, and scattered the crowd like chaff before him.
Steered by his ‘fancy’ wife, a way grew clear about them, and Geordie marched slowly, unsteadily forward, bearing the ‘stang’ like a battering-ram straight in front of him, down the remaining length of the Row, accompanied at a respectful distance by a rabble of the smaller urchins.
Right on past his house he went, out into the darkness beyond, and over the bridge at the end of the village, still tightly grasping the ‘stang’ himself, and tightly grasped in his turn by his ‘fancy’ wife.