She took them tenderly, still half-unbelieving in her good fortune.
“I never thought,” she whispered, “that no one would ’ave thrown ’oops for me. Oh, I say!”
Peter looked at her, and then some spirit took [Pg 255]possession of him. Perhaps it was one of enterprise, perhaps it was one of mischief, perhaps it was one of kindliness, or perhaps—and this is more probable—it was a mixture of all three.
“Shall we do the fair together?” he asked.
It was her turn now to look at him. Incredulity, joy, and something akin to tears struggled for the mastery. The last are apt to come to the surface at a kindness to one not used to it.
“I—I—d’you mean it?” she asked, ecstatic.
“With all the faith in the world,” replied Peter. “Come along.”
They were an odd trio—the tall, lean man in his shabby coat and trousers and the fantastic peacock feather in his hat, the small ugly girl in her tawdry finery, the mongrel puppy which trotted solemnly at Peter’s heels.
To the Ugly Little Girl it was a never-to-be-forgotten afternoon. She had a man all of her own, and one, too, who flung shillings abroad with never so much as a hint at his reckless expenditure. Never again was she to care for the pitying looks cast upon her lonely self by the other girls who walked abroad with their swains. Never again was she lonely. Her life was to hold a [Pg 256]dream-knight, a man with sad eyes and a whimsical smile, who had fêted her throughout one glorious September day. And her dream was infinitely more beautiful than any other girl’s reality, for in it her man was ever courtly, ever considerate, laughing, gay, with odd little speeches that somehow tugged at her heart-strings and brought the happy tears to her eyes. There was never a blow, never a harsh word, such as fell too often to the lot of the others. Thrice happy Ugly Little Girl, with her one day of innocent joy and her dream throughout her life!
As for Peter, having undertaken the rôle of swain, you may be sure he played his part royally. He whirled on wooden horses till his brain was dizzy, while Democritus, from the safety of the solid earth, watched his antics in dumb amazement, marvelling at his undignified proceedings. He bought and ate waffles made by a stout woman with a motherly face, who blessed the two in a way that caused the Ugly Little Girl to blush scarlet and convulsed Peter with inward laughter; he bought sticks of sugar-candy and huge peppermints called “humbugs”; and finally he watched a hunchbacked harlequin, in green and gold spangles, [Pg 257]turn somersaults and jest for the motley herd around him.