grew tired of the naphtha-lamps and the voices of the tragedians, and
the cornet wheezing under canvas, and began to long for the time when
they would leave the square open for the boys to come and play at
prisoners' bars in the dusk.

One evening, a fortnight before Whitsun Fair, he had taken his book
to the open window, and sat there with it. Every night he had to
learn a text which he repeated next morning to his mother. Already,
across the square, the Mayoralty house was brightly lit, and the
bandsmen had begun to arrange their stands and music before it; for
the Colonel was receiving company. Every now and then a carriage
arrived, and set down its guests.

After a while Taffy looked up and saw two persons crossing the
square--an old man and a little girl. He recognised them, having
seen them together in church the day before, when his father had
preached the sermon. The old man wore a rusty silk hat, cocked a
little to one side, a high stock collar, black cutaway coat, breeches
and gaiters of grey cord. He stooped as he walked, with his hands
behind him and his walking-stick dangling like a tail--a very
positive old fellow, to look at. The girl's face Taffy could not
see; it was hidden by the brim of her Leghorn hat.

The pair passed close under the window. Taffy heard a knock at the
door below, and ran to the head of the stairs. Down in the passage
his mother was talking to the old man, who turned to the girl and
told her to wait outside.

"But let her come in and sit down," urged Humility.