Then he went to draw three-pennyworth of whisky for a customer, and Andy, Sam, and the circus-owner filed out again in the by-lane.
“I’ll have it,” said Andy.
“Done with you,” said the man, leading the pony and cart back into the yard.
“My eye, you’ve got a bargain,” said Sam. “Cheapest pony and cart I ever see.”
And indeed it was a wonderful bargain, only to be accounted for by the fact that the circus-owner decamped next day, leaving behind a wife, a tent, a few assorted animals, and the responsibilities of existence in the Eastern Hemisphere.
Fortunately for himself, Andy never knew that he had provided the means of flight, but as the wife prospered much better alone it may be assumed that the circus-owner was no irretrievable loss to the circus or the country.
By the time the bargain was concluded, the waggons were already rumbling up to the door of the refreshment-rooms, and tired and happy babies cuddled down against their mothers’ knees to sleep all the way home, while the bigger ones sang hymns that sounded very sweet and touching, in spite of the rough, untrained voices, as they floated back in the still, evening air.
They were all very tired—young and old—but you want to be tired after a real outing, for that is a part of it—and as Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe, the solid and unemotional, followed in their dog-cart behind, they could hear all three waggon-loads singing “Abide with me.”
“Another School-Feast over,” said Mr. Thorpe.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Thorpe.