Therefore, when Johnny lifted up his voice in protest, general consternation ensued. Dada, taking him in his arms, upbraided the women-folk, and remarked indignantly that the child was not so big yet but what he could carry him if he was tired: and Maggie with a blush reminded her mother that Jim Fry was going to give them a lift to Shroton and back, and therefore there would be no need for Johnny to walk except just at the Fair itself; and Rosie observed that he didn’t seem to be one for catching cold, and, moreover, opined that he would look beautiful in his new suit, and that it did seem a pity that he couldn’t wear it where it could be seen. This last suggestion turned the scale, and Johnny dried his eyes and was carried off to bed in triumph. On the next morning the entire household was enlisted in the service of the youngest-born. The father, coming upon Rosie as she was blacking his sturdy little Sunday boots, desired her to hand them over—he’d show her how to make ’em shine. And shine they certainly did when he had done with them, for, though he could with difficulty squeeze two of his great fingers into them, he polished them with as much energy as would have sufficed for full-sized Wellingtons. Meanwhile Maggie was sedulously brushing the smart new sailor-suit, and the little pilot-coat with its two rows of brass buttons, while Mrs. Reed was carefully winding round her fingers the yellow curls which looked so much better when allowed to cluster freely about brow and neck, but which were now persuaded to assume the corkscrew shape dear to the village mother’s heart. She devoted particular time and care to the arrangement of a top-knot, which much resembled a small sausage-roll, and was poised immediately above Johnny’s right eye. At last the only son of the house stood arrayed in all his glory, while the admiring family gathered round. “He do look a pictur’—I’ll say that for him,” remarked the father proudly. “There’ll not be his like at the Fair.” “See and keep your coat buttoned, Johnny,” observed Mrs. Reed anxiously; “and don’t ’ee go for to take off your muffler, not if you be ever so warm.” Johnny rolled his eyes towards his mother over the white woollen folds—which, indeed, very nearly came up to them—and then looked down to where the fringed ends showed beneath the bottom of his coat. The comforter was certainly uncomfortably warm, and the day was mild and sunny; but Johnny was in the mood to promise anything; therefore he gravely nodded. Presently the sound of wheels was heard, and Jim Fry’s “trap” halted outside the little garden-gate. Jim himself looked very smart in his best clothes; his hat being set on at a knowing angle over his well-sleeked locks; a nosegay about the size of a saucer in his button-hole. There were flowers, too, at the horse’s ears, and the harness was polished to a nicety.