"Dear Judy," I said, "very soon it will be over, and we shall go
our several ways once more. And if we don't meet, as the months
and years go by, when other cleverer, better men walk by your
side, and glorious days crowd thick about you, throw a spare
thought to the old time when you were a strolling player, and the
poor fool you gave the honour of your company."

She turned her head away, but she did not speak.

"You'll not forget me, Judy?"

She caught her breath and slipped a hand under her mask for a
second. Then:

"Next show, Punch," she cried. "No, of course, I shan't.
You've been very good to me."

She was on her feet by now and busily arranging the puppets. I
groaned. The next moment she had wound a long call upon the
reed, which put further converse out of the question.

The last performance began. The first quarrel seemed to lack its
wonted bitterness. Punch appeared halfhearted, and Judy was
simply walking through.

I glanced at the girl and stroked her pig-tail- my pig-tail.

"Wootle," I said encouragingly. " Wootle, wootle."