them; both were so bitterly disappointed. Abel, like an ancient
mischievous gnome, went off, calling to Hazel:

'Clear your throat agen the judgin's over!'

The judges were locked into the barn where the exhibits were. They took
a long while over the judging, presumably because they tasted
everything, even to the turnips (Mrs. James was partial to early
turnips). Edward and Hazel passed a window and looked in.

'Look at 'em longing after the old lady's jam!' said Hazel. 'It's a
mercy the covers are well stuck on or they'd be in like wasps! Look at
Mr. Frodley wi' the eggs! Dear now, he's sucking one like a lad at a
throstles' nest! Oh! Father'd ought to be there! He ne'er eats a cooked
egg. Allus raw. Oh! Mr. James has unscrewed a bottle of father's honey
and dipped! Look at 'im sucking his fingers!'

'Do people buy the remnants?' asked Edward, amused and disgusted.

'Ah! What for not?'

The judges are now making a hearty meal off some cheeses.

'I wonder whose cheeses they are?' Edward mused.

They were, in fact, Vessons'. He always insisted on making cheeses for
some obscure reason; possibly it was the pride of the old-fashioned
servant in being worth more than his wages. Vessons certainly was. He
made stacks of cheeses, and took them to fairs and shows without the
slightest encouragement from his master, who, when Vessons returned,