day was, we say, a general festival. All the folks were in their best; and the schoolmaster and schoolmistress—both functionaries paid from the privy purse of Jogtrot Hall—gave their boys and girls a holiday, that, in their cleanest attire, and with big nosegays stuck in their bosoms and held in their hands, they might, as small retainers of the Lord of the Hall, do honour to him and pleasure to themselves.

[Pg 52]

[Pg 52]

For three hours at least the children and the younger villagers had been prepared, arranged in seemly rows, to confront the fine, the awful folks from London. “They’re coming now, Jenny,” said a young fellow, “take care of yourself;” and familiarly pressing the arm of a fair, slim, country girl, who stood in the doorway of White, the schoolmaster—a place where she had the best claim to be, for in truth she was the schoolmaster’s daughter—the earnest adviser, Robert Topps by name, ran at his best speed back to the Hall. And now, on one side of the road, the boys’ school, with old White at their head, and his daughter at the threshold, with her fair pink face a little flustered by expectation, and, perhaps, by the counsel of Bob Topps,—on one side, the boys’ school, with flowers and green boughs, is on tiptoe with the first cheer; and immediately opposite, the girls’ school of Marigolds, under the firm and temperate direction of Mrs. Blanket, schoolmistress, duly prepared with a flourish of handkerchiefs; one or two of the more impulsive threatening to shout and flourish very much out of season.

At this turn of the road, reader,—this one whereby the carriages must sweep to the Hall, receiving, as they pass, the fire of either scholarhood—we have an excellent view of the guests. How the ladies—spick and span from the mint of fashion—bring in their caps, and bonnets, and hoods, and gowns, the most delightful wonders to the folks of Marigolds! It is London splendour, in all its mystery, brought to their doorways. If hats and caps were new stars, they would not be stared at with half so much wonderment. And now—there is a very narrow turning further up the road—the carriages go so slowly, that the young scholars, boys as well as girls, feel abashed to cheer in the fixed presence of the fine people. It is only when the line loosens, and the carriages roll quicklier on, that the children take new courage and shout and pipe their welcome.

We do not propose to introduce every guest to the reader,—merely two or three of the folks; and for this reason. As the reader will never again meet with the great 

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