"Oh, no, ladies. Only once a year--this is the time. There is a fair and there are cock-fights----" "Ah--that sounds rather thrilling." "And donkeys----" "Oh, there are always donkeys--always!" the ladies cried, looking hopelessly at poor Sir Tristram. "I mean _real_ donkeys," the poor man explained patiently. "So do we mean _real_ donkeys," they sighed. "And there are the races--and--well, if you will come I am certain there are several new attractions. Let me take you, Lady Harriet, and I promise to make you forget your _ennui_ for once. Cock-fights and----" "Donkeys," she sighed, rising. "Very well, one might as well die of donkeys and cock-fights as of nothing at all. It is too hot, open the window----" "I fly." "Oh, heavens! now it is too cold--shut it----" "I fly," the unhappy Sir Tristram replied. "Give me my fan----" "I fly." He flies. "O lord, I don't want it----" "I fl--oh!" he sighed and sank into a chair, exhausted. [Music: Come away, Maidens gay, To the fair All repair, Let us go, Let us show Willing hearts, Fair deserts!] "What is that?" Harriet asked impatiently, as she heard this gay chorus sung just outside her windows. "A gay measure: the girls and lads going to the fair," Nancy replied. "Servant girls and stable boys--bah!" "Yes--shocking! Who would give them a thought?" Sir Tristram rashly remarked. "Why, I don't know! after all, they sound very gay indeed. You haven't very good taste, Sir Tristram, I declare." And at this the poor old fop should have seen that she would contradict anything that he said. "Oh, I remember now! Fair day is the day when all the pretty girls dress in their best and go to the fair to seek for places, to get situations. They hire themselves out for a certain length of time!--till next year, I think. Meantime they dance in their best dresses and have a very gay day of it." "That sounds to me rather attractive," Lady Harriet remarked thoughtfully. "A foolish fancy, your ladyship," the unfortunate Sir Tristram put in. "Now I am resolved to go! Get me that bodice I wore at the fancy dress ball, Nancy. We shall all go--I shall be Martha,--Nancy, and old Rob." "And--and who may be 'old Rob,' your ladyship?" Sir Tristram asked, feeling much pained at this frivolity. "Why, you, to be sure. Come! No mumps! No dumps! We are off!" "Oh, this is too much." "What, Sir Tristram, is that the extent of your love for me?" "No, no--I shall do as you wish--but," the poor old chap sighed heavily. "To be sure you will--so now, Nancy, teach old Rob how the yokels dance, and we'll be off." "This is too much. I can't dance in that manner." "Dance--or leave me! Dance--or stay at home, sir!" Harriet cried sternly. "O heaven--I'll dance," and so he tried, and the teases put him through all the absurd paces they knew, till he fell exhausted into a seat.