opening. If all his customers were as thrilled as this small boy, thought Ben, then this year's visit to Thrush Green might be well worth while.
His thoughts flew back to his wonderful old grandmother whose grave was behind him in the churchyard. She had always looked upon Thrush Green as her true home, the one place where she felt that she could rest, largely because of the affection she felt for Dr Bailey, who had looked after her, so many years ago, at her confinement with George, her son, father to Ben.
Ben too had this feeling of affinity with Thrush Green, partly because of his grandmother's loyalty to the place, partly because she now rested there for ever, and partly, of course, because he had found his dear Molly here, and heard about it from her almost daily, wherever they happened to be.
Yes, he supposed Thrush Green would be the obvious place to settle if the fair had to go. He sighed at the thought. What would the old lady have said?
Guilt flooded him, but within a minute it had given way to a comforting thought. Mrs Curdle had always been a realist. If one stall did not pay its way, she was quite ruthless in scrapping it.
When she had discovered her nephew Sam stealing the takings, she had not hesitated to banish him from the fair. If now she had been alive and had to face the sad fact that the business was not thriving, she would do as Ben was thinking of doing, cut her losses and start afresh, with courage and a stout heart.
It was a warming thought, and Ben felt better as he watched the spinning roundabout and the gaudy booths. She would have understood, and so would Molly when he broke the news.
'Roll up! Roll up!' he shouted with vigour, hoisting a four-year-old into a swingboat, and setting it into movement with a cheerful shove.
Some hours later, Winnie Bailey surveyed the scene from her bedroom window. By now it was dark. A few stars pricked the clearing sky, but it was difficult to see them against the blaze of light from Curdle's Fair.
'It's even better at night,' Winnie murmured to herself, watching the moving figures silhouetted against the glare of the bright lamps. She had a great affection for the fair. The bond between Mrs Curdle, of hallowed memory, and Donald and herself had endured for decades. Every year the old lady had made a magnificent bouquet of artificial flowers for her Thrush Green friends. If she had kept them all, thought Winnie, she must have had several dozen.
They were glowing gaudy blossoms, made of finely-pared wood, and dyed in bright shades of orange, pink and red. Winnie still had one of these offerings in a vase on the landing, a constant reminder of a faithful friend.
'A fine family,' commented Winnie, closing the window.
Tomorrow she would seek out Ben and Molly, and hear all their news. The girl must enjoy coming home again and seeing Albert.
As it happened, at that very moment, Molly was confronting her incensed father across a zinc bath half full of steaming water.
The kitchen was snug and steamy. The kitchen range was alight, and on its gleaming top stood a large kettle and the biggest saucepan the cottage could boast.
'Never!' shouted Albert, his face suffused with wrath. 'I ain't gettin' in there, and that's flat.'
'You are,' replied Molly. 'You're plain filthy. You smell somethin' chronic, and you can get them rags off of your back for me to wash, or burn maybe, and get soaping. I'll be upstairs, sorting George's things out, so nobody's going to stare at you.'
'Never!' shouted Albert again. 'Never 'eard such cheek!'
Molly looked at him grimly.
'D'you want me to get the District Nurse?'
Albert's bravado cracked a little.
'You wouldn't dare! Besides, it's not decent. That young woman? Why, she ain't even married!'
'She's coming tomorrow, if you don't do as I says, and we'll both get you into the tub. So take your choice.'
Slowly the old man fumbled with the greasy scarf about his scrawny neck. He was muttering crossly to himself.
"That's
His thoughts flew back to his wonderful old grandmother whose grave was behind him in the churchyard. She had always looked upon Thrush Green as her true home, the one place where she felt that she could rest, largely because of the affection she felt for Dr Bailey, who had looked after her, so many years ago, at her confinement with George, her son, father to Ben.
Ben too had this feeling of affinity with Thrush Green, partly because of his grandmother's loyalty to the place, partly because she now rested there for ever, and partly, of course, because he had found his dear Molly here, and heard about it from her almost daily, wherever they happened to be.
Yes, he supposed Thrush Green would be the obvious place to settle if the fair had to go. He sighed at the thought. What would the old lady have said?
Guilt flooded him, but within a minute it had given way to a comforting thought. Mrs Curdle had always been a realist. If one stall did not pay its way, she was quite ruthless in scrapping it.
When she had discovered her nephew Sam stealing the takings, she had not hesitated to banish him from the fair. If now she had been alive and had to face the sad fact that the business was not thriving, she would do as Ben was thinking of doing, cut her losses and start afresh, with courage and a stout heart.
It was a warming thought, and Ben felt better as he watched the spinning roundabout and the gaudy booths. She would have understood, and so would Molly when he broke the news.
'Roll up! Roll up!' he shouted with vigour, hoisting a four-year-old into a swingboat, and setting it into movement with a cheerful shove.
Some hours later, Winnie Bailey surveyed the scene from her bedroom window. By now it was dark. A few stars pricked the clearing sky, but it was difficult to see them against the blaze of light from Curdle's Fair.
'It's even better at night,' Winnie murmured to herself, watching the moving figures silhouetted against the glare of the bright lamps. She had a great affection for the fair. The bond between Mrs Curdle, of hallowed memory, and Donald and herself had endured for decades. Every year the old lady had made a magnificent bouquet of artificial flowers for her Thrush Green friends. If she had kept them all, thought Winnie, she must have had several dozen.
They were glowing gaudy blossoms, made of finely-pared wood, and dyed in bright shades of orange, pink and red. Winnie still had one of these offerings in a vase on the landing, a constant reminder of a faithful friend.
'A fine family,' commented Winnie, closing the window.
Tomorrow she would seek out Ben and Molly, and hear all their news. The girl must enjoy coming home again and seeing Albert.
As it happened, at that very moment, Molly was confronting her incensed father across a zinc bath half full of steaming water.
The kitchen was snug and steamy. The kitchen range was alight, and on its gleaming top stood a large kettle and the biggest saucepan the cottage could boast.
'Never!' shouted Albert, his face suffused with wrath. 'I ain't gettin' in there, and that's flat.'
'You are,' replied Molly. 'You're plain filthy. You smell somethin' chronic, and you can get them rags off of your back for me to wash, or burn maybe, and get soaping. I'll be upstairs, sorting George's things out, so nobody's going to stare at you.'
'Never!' shouted Albert again. 'Never 'eard such cheek!'
Molly looked at him grimly.
'D'you want me to get the District Nurse?'
Albert's bravado cracked a little.
'You wouldn't dare! Besides, it's not decent. That young woman? Why, she ain't even married!'
'She's coming tomorrow, if you don't do as I says, and we'll both get you into the tub. So take your choice.'
Slowly the old man fumbled with the greasy scarf about his scrawny neck. He was muttering crossly to himself.
"That's
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