nt on ahead in charge of a friend.

"Ella Anne's goin' to show her horse," said Hannah admiringly. "She's
took first prize every year for ever so long. She's a wonderful
driver."

"Dere's Lorry!" screamed Joey, pointing to a little tousled black head
peeping from between Malcolm Cameron and his sister, just a little in
advance.

"Elsie's awful good to her," said Hannah gratefully. "Her an' Arabella
Winters jist makes a pet o' that child. Lorry says they've got a
secret, the three o' them, and she feels that big about it you never
saw the likes! Why, that's Lenny's voice, ain't it?"

From a buggy a little farther down the line greetings were being
shrieked back to the black-haired twin. Hannah drew a deep sigh of
content.

"Well, now, there's every single one o' them settled," she exclaimed
happily. "If Jake jist gets a chance, now, an' Timmy gets a prize for
his pumpkins, we jist won't have anythin' more to ask."

The Elmbrook fair ground was a long field, with a big, barn-like
building at one end. Gilbert had often passed the place before, and
found it silent and grass-grown; but now it was thronged with people,
and resounding with a joyous bedlam of all the noises that all the
farms in Oro, joined together, could produce. Horses neighed, cattle
bawled, sheep bleated, hens cackled, babies cried and boys shouted. A
merry-go-round, that charged only five cents for a horseback ride, was
whirling giddily to the tune of "The Maple Leaf Forever." As the
doctor guided his horse carefully through the thronged gateway Joey
spied the twins, already mounted astride the largest team, and spinning
around with joyous shrieks. A man with a wheel of fortune was shouting
to the passers-by to come and take a turn, and make money enough to buy
a farm. A row of tents, each with its roaring proprietor in front,
held all sorts of wonderful spectacles, from a three-headed pig to a
panorama of Queen Victoria's Jubilee. In front of a large tent, set
off in one corner, a solemn, stout man, wrapped in a white
winding-sheet, was marching to and fro, ringing a funereal bell, and
calling out in melancholy tones that this was the last chance for
dinner.

But above all the various clamor one sound arose, penetrating,
triumphant, the sound that was the true voice of the Elmbrook fair, and
without which it would surely have died away in silence--the high,
thrilling skirl of the bagpipes. The piper, splendid in kilt and plaid
an