“Oh, Jeremy, what are you doing?”
“Just counting my money,” he said, with would-be carelessness.
“You're going to the Fair?” she whispered breathlessly.
He frowned. How could she know? She always knew everything.
“Perhaps,” he whispered back; “but if you tell anyone I'll—”
“Of course I wouldn't tell,” she replied, deeply offended.
This little conversation strengthened his purpose. He had not admitted to himself that he was really going. Now he knew.
Wednesday would be the night. On Wednesday evenings his father had a service which prevented him from returning home until half-past eight. He would go to Somerset's at half-past four, and would be expected home at half-past six; there would be no real alarm about him until his father's return from church, and he could, therefore, be sure of two hours' bliss. For the consequences he did not care at all. He was going to do no harm to anyone or anything. They would be angry, perhaps, but that would not hurt him, and, in any case, he was going to school next week. No one at school would mind whether he had been to the Fair or no.
He felt aloof and apart, as though no one could touch him. He would not have minded simply going into them all and saying: “I'm off to the Fair.” The obvious drawback to that would have been that he would have been shut up in his room, and then they might make him give his word... He would not break any promises.
When Wednesday came it was a lovely day. Out in the field just behind the Coles' house they were burning a huge bonfire of dead leaves. At first only a heavy column of grey smoke rose, then flames broke through; little, thin golden flames like paper; then a sudden fierce red tongue shot out and went licking up into the air until it faded like tumbling water against the sunlight. On the outer edge of the bonfire there was thin grey smoke through which you could see as through glass. The smell was heavenly, and even through closed windows the crackling of the burnt leaves could be heard. The sight of the bonfire excited Jeremy. It seemed to him a signal of encouragement, a spur to perseverance. All the morning the flames crackled, and men came with wheelbarrows full of leaves and emptied them in thick heaps upon the fire. At each emptying the fire would be for a moment beaten, and only the white, thick, malicious smoke would come through; then a little spit of flame, another, another; then a thrust like a golden hand stretching out; then a fine, towering, quivering splendour.