“It needn't,” said Jeremy, “if you stay indoors.”
This amused Mr. Somerset immensely. He laughed a great deal.
“We always have to,” said Jeremy, rather hurt. “We're not allowed farther than the garden.”
“Ah, but I'm older than you are,” said Mr. Somerset. “It was the same with me once.”
“And what did you do? Did you go all the same?”
“You bet, I did,” said the red-faced hero, more intent on his reminiscences than on the effect that this might have on the morals of his pupil.
Jeremy waited then for the parental command that was always issued. It was: “Now, children, you must promise me never to go outside the house this week unless you have asked permission first.” And then: “And on no account to speak to any stranger about anything whatever.” And then: “Don't look out of the back windows, mind.” (From the extreme corners of the bedroom windows you could see a patch of the meadow whereon the gipsy-vans settled.) These commands had been as regular as the Fair, and always, of course, the children had promised obedience. Jeremy told his conscience that if, this year, he gave his promise, he would certainly keep it. He wondered, at the same time, whether he might not possibly manage to be out of the house when the commands were issued. He formed a habit of suddenly slipping out of the room when he saw his father's mouth assuming the shape of a “command.” He took the utmost care not to be alone with his father.
But he need not have been alarmed. This year no command appeared. Perhaps Mr. Cole thought that it was no longer necessary; it was obvious that the children were not to go, and they were, after all, old enough now to think for themselves. Or, perhaps, it was that Mr. Cole had other things on his mind; he was changing curates just then, and a succession of white-faced, soft-voiced, and loud-booted young men were appearing at the Coles' hospitable table.
“Here's this tiresome Fair come round again,” said Mrs. Cole.
“Wicked!” said Aunt Amy, with an envious shudder. “Satan finds work, indeed, in this town.”
“I don't suppose it's worse than anywhere else,” said Mrs. Cole.
On the late afternoon of the day before the opening, Jeremy, on his way to Mr. Somerset's, caught the tailend of Wombwell's Circus Procession moving, in misty splendour, across the market.