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It’sthewallorsomething。“
Hecamedownfromthechairyawning。
“Jim’snice，“heconfidedtoher。“He’sgoingtotakemerattingoneday！“
“I’mgoing，“Marysaidagain，andwaited。
Jeremycoloured，lookedasthoughhewouldsaysomething，then，insilence，presentedaverygrimycheek。“Good-night，“hesaid，withanairofintenserelief。
“Good-night，“shesaid，kissinghim。
Sheclosedthedoorbehindher。Sheknewthattheworsthadhappened。Hehadpassedaway，utterlybeyondhercompany，herworld，herinterests。Shecreptalongtoherroom，andthere，withadeterminationandastrengthrareinachildsoyoungandsoundisciplined，facedherloneliness。
CHAPTERXI
THEMERRY-GO-ROUND
I
Theholidayswereover。TheColeswereoncemorebackinPolchester，andthemostexcitingperiodofJeremy’slifehadbegun。Soatanyratehefeltit。Itmightbethatinlateryearstherewouldbenewexcitingevents，lion-hunting，forinstance，orawar，orthetrackingofniggersintheheartofAfrica——hewouldbereadyforthemwhentheycame——buttheselastweeksbeforehisfirstdepartureforschoolofferedhimtheprospectofthefirstrealindependenceofhislife。Therecouldneverbeanythingquitelikethatagain。
Nevertheless，schoolseemedstillalongwaydistant。Itwasonlyhismanlinessthathewasrealisingandacertainimpatienceandrestlessnessthatunderlayeverythingthathedid。
SeptemberandOctoberareoftenverylovelymonthsinPolchester；
autumnseemstocometherewithagreaterwarmthandrichnessthanitdoeselsewhere。AlongallthereachesofthePol，rightdowntothesea，theleavesofthewoodshungwithariotousmagnificencethatisgloriousinitsrecklessness。Thewatersofthatsilentriveraresostill，soglassy，thatthebanksofgoldandflamingredarereflectedinalltheirrichestcolourdownintotheveryheartofthestream，anditisonlywhenafishjumpsoratwigfallsfromtheoverhangingtreesthatthemirrorisbrokenandthecoloursflashintoripplesandshadowsofwhiteandgrey。TheuttersilenceofallthisworldmakestheCathedraltownsleepy，sluggish，forgottenofallmen。AstheautumncomesitseemstodrowseawayintowintertothetuneofitsCathedralbells，tothescentofitsburningleavesandthesoftstepsofitsCanonsandclergy。Thereiseveryautumnhereaclericalconference，andlongbeforetheappointedweekbegins，andlongafteritislawfullyconcluded，clergymen，strangeclergymenwithsoftblackhats，takethetownfortheirown，gazeintoMartinthepastry-cook’s，sitintheduskoftheCathedrallisteningtotheorgan；walk，theirheadsinair，theirarmsfoldedbehindtheirbacks，straightupOrangeStreetasthoughtheywerescalingHeavenitself；stoplittlechildren，pattheirheads，andgivethempennies；standoutsidePoole’sbookshopanddelveinthe2d。boxforthumb-markedsermons；standgazinginlearnedfashionatthegreatWestDoor，investigatingthesaintsandapostlesportrayedthereon；hurryintheirbesthatsandcoatsalongtheClosetosomeladies’tea-party，orpasswithsolemnandanxiousmienintothepalaceoftheBishophimself。
AllthesethingsbelongtoautumninPolchester，asJeremyverywellknew，buttheeventthatmarksthetruebeginningoftheseason，theonlywaybywhichyoumaysurelyknowthatsummerisoverandautumniscomeisPauper’sFair。
Thisfamousfairhasbeen，fromtimeimmemorial，anotedeventinGlebeshirelife。Evennow，whenfairshaveyieldedtocinematographsasattractionsforthepeople，Pauper’sFairgivesitsannualexcitement。ThirtyyearsagoitwasthegreatesteventoftheyearinPolchester。Allourfinepeople，ofcourse，dislikeditextremely。Itdisturbedthetownfordays，thetownrockedinthearmsofcrowdsofdrunkensailors，thetowngavesheltertogipsiesandroguesandscoundrels，thetown，thedecent，amiable，happytownactuallyforaweekorsoseemedtoinvitetheworldof
