“They’ll have time enough to cool off now,” Danby Force laughed.
“But how sad to think that those who so often have come to this place to find beauty and happiness should, on this last night, remain to destroy!” There was a look of distress on the little French girl’s face.
“Come!” said Danby Force, “There are some things we must try to forget. This is one of them. Let us always think of the great Fair as it was in the height of its glory.”
As they moved on toward the Aisle of Flags, they came to a spot that, like an eddy in a stream, even on this night of turmoil was at rest.
“Goodbye.” A boy was clasping a girl’s hand. “Goodbye Mary. See you at the next Fair.”
Jeanne knew these two a little. They had worked side by side selling orangeade and ice cream cones. Now it was “Goodbye until the next Fair.”
“And when that comes,” she murmured, “their hair will be gray. Goodbye until the next Fair.”
As they passed an apparently deserted hot-dog stand, Jeanne caught sight of a figure crumpled up in a dark corner. A young girl, perhaps not yet eighteen, she sat with head on arms, silently sobbing.
Jeanne was gypsy enough to read that girl’s fortune. All through the bright summer days and on into the glorious autumn, the great Fair had offered her means of making a living. Perhaps she was helping to support her parents. Who could tell? Now it was all over—the last hot-dog sold. “Goodbye Fair,” Jeanne whispered, swallowing hard.
Stepping silently back, she slipped a bit of green paper into the girl’s hand, then disappeared too quickly to be seen.