By winding lanes and passages Master Harpham led his guests towards the “Dragon” inn where they had left their horses and their wagons. Every now and then however, when they turned a corner, Margery and Colin caught a glimpse of a crowd, of flaming torches, and of the top of one of the pageants stationed sometimes half-way up a street, sometimes in a little open space, sometimes beneath a city gate. “They are still going on!” Colin exclaimed. “Yes; but only till the pageant of the _Doctors in the Temple_ has been played at the last halting-place,” said Master Harpham, looking back over his shoulder at the little boy. “It’s all over for to-night in our market-place, for instance; but the Doctors’ play won’t reach Girdlegate, the last place, for another half-hour, perhaps.... Now, here’s the inn! Hurry, all of you, and you will get out your horses before there’s too much of a crush.” Dobbin and Jock, looking quite fresh after their long day’s rest, were soon led out from their corner of the stables, and in a moment Margery was perched on Dobbin’s back, in front of her father. “Good-nights” were called, and, in company with various other travellers, the children rode along the cobble-paved streets towards Mikelgate, from which the pageants had long ago departed, leaving the road to the gate clear. “’Tis luck to have moonlight!” exclaimed Farmer Short, as they emerged upon the country-road. Margery looked back towards the city they had left, over which hung a dull red glow from the torchlights which still streamed and flickered there; and as she looked she drew a long sigh. “She’s tired!” said her mother; but Margery indignantly denied the fact. “I was thinking what a lovely day it’s been,” she declared; “and about all the plays they will be acting to-morrow and the next day. But Master Gyseburn says they will be sad plays. So perhaps I shouldn’t like to see them after all. I didn’t like it when the babies were killed!” “Yes,” said a neighbour; “there are about twenty still to come. They’ll need two days more at least. The saddest plays will come last, when the Tapestry-weavers act the _Trial of Christ_; and the Tile-makers and Painters _The Crucifixion_.” “’Twas a mercy it was fine,” exclaimed Mistress Short. “And likely to be fine to-morrow,” she added, with a glance at the clear sky, in which a full moon sailed.