“A horse at the fair!” Scarcely had he enjoyed the relief of working out that he had taken the harmless adjoining bedroom for the Showman’s, when this new blow struck him, like hooves on his chest. “Of course I wouldn’t listen to him,” she said. “Of course not!” His breast expanded again. “How can a woman understand buying horses?” “Oh, I don’t mean that.” Jinny was distinctly colder. “I mean it’s the Lord’s Day. He’ll have to repeat his order on Tuesday.” “But surely you wouldn’t go to a horse fair?” “Why not?” “Because—it’s—it’s so horsey.” She laughed again. “And so fairish, too, isn’t it?” “What does he want a horse for?” he asked sullenly. “I don’t suppose it’s for dinner—he isn’t a Frenchy. But he’s got a caravan, hasn’t he?—and he has to begin his summer tour soon.” “And why can’t he buy his own horses?” “That infant? Why his last horse died of old age at four!” “And what about that sensible daughter of his?” “She hasn’t got horse-sense,” said Jinny, smiling. “Well, I don’t see how it comes into your business.” “A carrier has to buy whatever she’s asked.” “Whatever she can carry. You can’t carry a horse.” “No, but it can carry me. Besides, I’ve often carried a calf or a pig, and where am I to draw the line?” “You’ll be buying elephants next,” he said, with a bitter remembrance of Mr. Flippance’s story. “I’m too old for gingerbread,” she replied unexpectedly. “But I haven’t forgotten the one you gave me once.” He trembled under her radiant gratitude, with its evocation of the poetry of childhood. But a convulsive bound forward on the part of Nip broke up the argument. “Ah, here’s Farmer Gale coming along,” she said cheerfully. Just like the fellow, he thought, to come just at that moment. And his resentment at the arrival of the dog-cart was not even mitigated by the watery spectacle presented by its red-faced driver, whose personable and still youthful figure rose from a streaming tarpaulin, to which a hat with an unremoved mourning-band contributed its drippings. “You can’t go in that rain,” Will protested. “Let him go without you—I’ll order a trap myself.” “But you said you were dining here—I can’t wait.” He winced—his white lie had come home like a curse to roost. “You can dine with me!” “And what about Gran’fer?” “Well, I can dine at home.” But she scarcely heard him. She was already fastening a handkerchief over her Sunday bonnet—a fascinating process. “There’s a good cover—I’ll snuggle right in.”