It was all over; he knew at once that it was all over.

As he slipped down from his dear horse he gave the glossy dark mane one last pat; then, with a little sigh, he found his feet, stumbled over the wooden steps and was at his uncle's side.

Uncle Samuel looked queer enough with a squashy black hat, a black cloak flung over his shoulders, and a large cherry-wood pipe in his mouth. Jeremy looked up at him defiantly.

“Well,” said Uncle Samuel sarcastically. “It's nothing to you, I suppose, that the town-crier is at this moment ringing his bell for you up and down the Market Place?”

“Does father know?” Jeremy asked quickly.

“He does,” answered Uncle Samuel.

Jeremy cast one last look around the place; the merry-go-round was engaged once more upon its wild course, the horses rising and falling, the golden woman clashing the cymbals, the minstrel striking, with his dead eyes fixed upon space, his harp. All about men were shouting; the noise of the coconut stores, of the circus, of the band, of the hucksters and the charlatans, the crying of children, the laughter of women—all the noise of the Fair bathed Jeremy up to his forehead.

He swam in it for the last time. He tried to catch one last glimpse of his coal-black charger, then, with a sigh, he said, turning to his uncle: “I suppose we'd better be going.”

“Yes, I suppose we had,” said Uncle Samuel.

They threaded their way through the Fair, passed the wooden stile, and were once again in the streets, dark and ancient under the moon, with all the noise and glare behind them. Jeremy was thinking to himself: “It doesn't matter what Father does, or how angry he is, that was worth it.” It was strange how little afraid he was. Only a year ago to be punished by his father had been a terrible thing. Now, since his mother's illness in the summer, his father had seemed to have no influence over him.

“Did they bend you, or did you just come yourself, Uncle?” asked Jeremy.

“I happened to be taking the air in that direction,” said Uncle Samuel.

“I hope you didn't come away before you wanted to,” said Jeremy politely.

“I did not,” said his uncle.

“Is Father very angry?” asked Jeremy.

“It's more than likely he may be. The Town Crier's expensive.”

“I didn't think they'd know,” explained Jeremy. “I meant to get back in time.”

“Your father didn't go to church,” said Uncle Samuel. “So your sins were quickly discovered.”

Jeremy said nothing.

Just as they were climbing Orange Street he said:

“Uncle Samuel, I think I'll be a horse-trainer.”

“Oh, will you?... Well, before you train horses you've got to train yourself. Think of others beside yourself. A fine state you've put your mother into to-night.”

Jeremy looked distressed. “She'd know if I was dead, someone would come and tell her,” he said. “But I'll tell Mother I'm sorry... But I won't tell Father,” he added.

“Why not?” asked Uncle Samuel.

“Because he'll make such a fuss. And I'm not sorry. He never told me not to.”

“No, but you knew you hadn't to.”

“I'm very good at obeying,” explained Jeremy, “if someone says something; but if someone doesn't, there isn't anyone to obey.”

Uncle Samuel shook his head. “You'll be a bit of a prig, my son, if you aren't careful,” he said.

“I think it will be splendid to be a horse-trainer,” said Jeremy. “It was a lovely horse to-night... And I only spent a shilling. I had three and threepence halfpenny.”

At the door of their house Uncle Samuel stopped and said:

“Look here, young man, they say it's time you went to school, and I don't think they're far wrong. There are things wiser heads than yours can understand, and you'd better take their word for it. In the future, if you want to go running off somewhere, you'd better content yourself with my studio and make a mess there.”

“Oh, may I?” cried Jeremy delighted.

That studio had been always a forbidden place to them, and had, therefore, its air of enchanting mystery.

“Won't you really mind my coming?” he asked.

“I shall probably hate it,” answered his uncle; “but there's nothing I wouldn't do for the family.”

The boy walked to his father's study and knocked on the door. He did have then, at the sound of that knock, a moment of panic. The house was so silent, and he knew so well what would follow the opening of the door. And the worst of it was that he was not sorry in the least. He seemed to be indifferent and superior, as though no punishment could touch him.

“Come in!” said his father.

He pushed open the door and entered. The scene that followed was grave and sad, and yet, in the end, strangely unimpressive. His father talked too much. As he talked Jeremy's thoughts would fly back to the coal-black horse and to that moment when he had seemed to fly into the very heart of the stars.

“Ah, Jeremy, how could you?” said his father. “Is obedience nothing to you? Do you know how God punishes disobedience? Think what a terrible thing is a disobedient man!” Then on a lower scale: “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.