“I know,” scoffed Rose. “She ran you on a mud-bank. It was done on purpose. A designing hussy.” “For shame!” said Jan. “No respectable girl would have done it I know what folks say”-- Jan boiled up. “You are a spiteful cat, Rose. I will not give you anything. Kate, what would you like to have? Choose anything on this stall; it is yours.” “I do not wish for anything,” answered the girl timidly. Yet her eyes had ranged longingly among the treasures exposed. “You shall have some present from me,” persisted Pooke. “Here, a dark blue silk handkerchief--the colour of your eyes.” “I am going to have that,” exclaimed Rose. “Noah was about to take it up when you spoke. It is mine.” “There are two, I’ll be bound,” said Jan. “No, there are not. Get her a yellow one--the blue is mine.” Rose snatched at it. There actually was no second of the same colour. “Yellow becomes you best,” said Jan angrily; “you are so jealous and spiteful.” “Jealous? of whom?” “Of Kate.” “I!--I!” jeered the handsome, spoiled girl, with an outburst of laughter. “I jealous of that creature. Cockles and winkles picked off a mud-bank!” “Give up that handkerchief,” exclaimed Jan passionately. “I really will not have it. I assure you I will not. Take it,” pleaded Kate, “I have no right to accept any present.” “Nonsense,” said Pooke. “I invited you to the fair, and here you are with me. I must and I will give you something by which to remember me.” He stepped back and pushed his way through the crowd to another stall. Kate remained where she was with fluttering heart, averting her burning face from the eyes of Rose, and looking eagerly among the throng for her uncle or father. Presently Jan returned. “There,” said he, “now I have something more worthy of you: a really good and handsome workbox.” He held out a polished box with mother-of-pearl shield on the lid, and scutcheon for the keyhole. “Look at it!” he said, and, raising the lid, displayed blue silk lined and padded compartments, stocked with thimble, scissors, reels, pins, needles, bodkin, and a tray. “Look!” exclaimed Jan, his cheeks glowing with mingled anger and pleasure; “underneath a place where you can put letters--anything; and you can lock the whole up. There, it is yours.” Kate was shy about accepting so handsome a gift, yet could not refuse it. The workbox had been bought and paid for. It was the custom for a young man to give a damsel a present at the fair, but then, to do so was tantamount to declaring that he had chosen her as his sweetheart. With thanks, more in her eyes than on her lips, Kate accepted the offering, and took it under her arm. Rose had turned away her head with a toss of the chin, and had pretended not to have seen the transaction. “Let us move on,” urged Pooke; “there is a shooting-place beyond, and, by George! I’ll have a try for nuts and fill your pockets, Kate.”