so like you to suppose a village fair must be an Eastern bazaar. If you
always thus judge of things by your fancy, how this sober world will
deceive you, poor Helen!"

"It is not my fault; ne me grondez pas, mechant," answered Helen, hanging
her head. "But come, sir, allow, at least, that if I let my romance, as
you call it, run away with me now and then, I can still content myself
with the reality. What, you shake your head still? Don't you remember
the sparrow?"

"Ha! ha! yes,--the sparrow that the pedlar sold you for a goldfinch; and
you were so proud of your purchase, and wondered so much why you could
not coax the goldfinch to sing, till at last the paint wore away, and it
was only a poor little sparrow!"

"Go on! Confess: did I fret then? Was I not as pleased with my dear
sparrow as I should have been with the prettiest goldfinch that ever
sang? Does not the sparrow follow me about and nestle on my shoulder,
dear little thing? And I was right after all; for if I had not fancied
it a goldfinch, I should not have bought it, perhaps. But now I would
not change it for a goldfinch,--no, not even for that nightingale I heard
just now. So let me still fancy the poor fair a bazaar; it is a double
pleasure, first to fancy the bazaar, and then to be surprised at the
fair."

"You argue well," said the vicar, as they now entered the village; "I
really think, in spite of all your turn for poetry and Goldsmith and
Cowper, that you would take as kindly to mathematics as your cousin John
Ardworth, poor lad!