"I really don't know
what to do with you. You knew that you were not to go near that wicked
place."

"You never said--" interrupted Jeremy.

"Nonsense! You knew well enough. You will break your mother's heart."

"I'll tell her I'm sorry," he interrupted quickly.

"If you are really sorry--" said his father.

"I'm not sorry I went," said Jeremy, "but I'm sorry I hurt Mother."

The end of it was that Jeremy received six strokes on the hand with a
ruler. Mr. Cole was not good at this kind of thing, and twice he
missed Jeremy's hand altogether, and looked very foolish. It was not
an edifying scene. Jeremy left the room, his head high, his spirit
obstinate; and his father remained, puzzled, distressed, at a loss,
anxious to do what was right, but unable to touch his son at all.

Jeremy went up to his room. He opened his window and looked out. He
could smell the burnt leaves of the bonfire. There was no flame now, but
he fancied that he could see a white shadow where it had been. Then, on
the wind, came the music of the Fair.

"Tum--te--Tum... Tum--te--Tum... Whirr--Whirr--Whirr--Bang--Bang."

Somewhere an owl cried, and then another owl answered.

He rubbed his sore hand against his trousers; then, thinking of his
black horse, he smiled.

He was a free man. In a week he would go to school; then he would go to
College; then he would be a horsetrainer.

He was in bed; faintly into the dark room, stole the scent of the
bonfire and the noise of the Fair.

"Tum--te-Tum... Tum--te--Tum..."

He was asleep, riding on a giant charger across boundless plains.

CHAPTER XII. HAMLET WAITS

I

The last day! Jeremy, suddenly waking, realised this with a confusion of
feeling as though he were sentenced to the dentist's, but, oddly enough,
looked forward to his visit. Going to school, one had, of course, long
ago perceived, was a mixed business; but the balance was now greatly
to the good. It was a step in the right direction towards liberty and
freedom. Thank Heaven!

No one in the family was likely to make a fuss about his departure,
unless it were possibly Mary, and she had, of late, kept very much to
herself and worried him scarcely at all. Indeed, he felt guilty about
Mary. He was fond of her, really... Funny kid... If only she didn't make
fusses!

Yes, it was unlike his family to make fusses. He realised that very
plainly to-day. Everyone went about his or her daily business with no
implication whatev