Jeremy cast one last look around the place; the merry-go-round was engaged once more upon its wild course, the horses rising and falling, the golden woman clashing the cymbals, the minstrel striking, with his dead eyes fixed upon space, his harp. All about men were shouting; the noise of the coconut stores, of the circus, of the band, of the hucksters and the charlatans, the crying of children, the laughter of women--all the noise of the Fair bathed Jeremy up to his forehead. He swam in it for the last time. He tried to catch one last glimpse of his coal-black charger, then, with a sigh, he said, turning to his uncle: “I suppose we'd better be going.” “Yes, I suppose we had,” said Uncle Samuel. They threaded their way through the Fair, passed the wooden stile, and were once again in the streets, dark and ancient under the moon, with all the noise and glare behind them. Jeremy was thinking to himself: “It doesn't matter what Father does, or how angry he is, that was worth it.” It was strange how little afraid he was. Only a year ago to be punished by his father had been a terrible thing. Now, since his mother's illness in the summer, his father had seemed to have no influence over him. “Did they bend you, or did you just come yourself, Uncle?” asked Jeremy. “I happened to be taking the air in that direction,” said Uncle Samuel. “I hope you didn't come away before you wanted to,” said Jeremy politely. “I did not,” said his uncle. “Is Father very angry?” asked Jeremy. “It's more than likely he may be. The Town Crier's expensive.” “I didn't think they'd know,” explained Jeremy. “I meant to get back in time.” “Your father didn't go to church,” said Uncle Samuel. “So your sins were quickly discovered.” Jeremy said nothing. Just as they were climbing Orange Street he said: “Uncle Samuel, I think I'll be a horse-trainer.” “Oh, will you?... Well, before you train horses you've got to train yourself. Think of others beside yourself. A fine state you've put your mother into to-night.” Jeremy looked distressed. “She'd know if I was dead, someone would come and tell her,” he said. “But I'll tell Mother I'm sorry... But I won't tell Father,” he added. “Why not?” asked Uncle Samuel. “Because he'll make such a fuss. And I'm not sorry. He never told me not to.” “No, but you knew you hadn't to.” “I'm very good at obeying,” explained Jeremy, “if someone says something; but if someone doesn't, there isn't anyone to obey.” Uncle Samuel shook his head. “You'll be a bit of a prig, my son, if you aren't careful,” he said. “I think it will be splendid to be a horse-trainer,” said Jeremy. “It was a lovely horse to-night... And I only spent a shilling. I had three and threepence halfpenny.” At the door of their house Uncle Samuel stopped and said: