Then Celie became conscious that some one was gazing at her—not a woman, of course. She turned. It was only Cleg Kelly. But she was glad to see even him, for, after all, one does need some support even in well-doing. It is so difficult to be independent all by one's self. "Where are you going, Cleg?" she said. "To the penny shows aff o' the Easter Road," replied Cleg. "Will you take me, Cleg?" said Celie, with a sudden clearing of her face, her eyes beginning to blaze with excitement. A great thought took possession of her. This appeared to be a providential chance to prove all that she had been advancing to Mr. Donald Iverach, who, indeed, had nothing whatever to do with the matter. "Take you, Miss Celie?" stammered Cleg aghast. "Ye wadna gang to the shows?" And he laughed a little laugh of wonderment at the jest of his goddess, for of course it could only be a joke. "I _will_ come with you, Cleg, if you will take me!" said Celie. "But ye ken, Miss Celie, it's no for the like o' you. It's a' weel aneuch for boys and common fowk, but no for you!" Thus Cleg urged prudence, even against the wild hope which took possession of him. "Come on, Cleg!" said Celie Tennant, rushing into rebellion at the thought of having her independence called in question, even by one of the Knuckle Dusters. "It's all _his_ fault!" she said to herself. Which it very clearly was—Cleg's, of course, for he ought not to have followed her home. Now along the Easter Road, then only a somewhat muddy country track, there was a small quarry which is now filled up, and a vacant acre or two of land where the show-folk took up their stances, and waged mimic but not bloodless wars in the mornings for the best positions. Great sheets of canvas were stretched above, flaring cressets were being lighted below, for some of the largest shows were dark inside, being those where the mysteries of "Pepper's Ghost" were shortly to be unveiled. Celie Tennant was greatly excited by the prospect of eating of the tree of knowledge. "Let us go in here," she said, pointing to the wondrous "Ghost Illusion" bearing the name and style of Biddle. She drew out her purse to pay, but Cleg stopped her with his hand. He had grown quite dignified. "Na," he said, "ye canna do that. It's my treat the nicht, when ye are walkin' oot wi' me." Then it dawned upon Celie that she was assisting at a well-understood function—no less than the solemn treating of a lady fair upon the evening of a pay-day. The thought nearly overcame her, but she only said, "Thank you, Cleg," and was discreetly silent. For the time being she was Cleg Kelly's "young woman."