"Oh, my dishes, my dear dishes!" she wailed. "They'll be broken all to tiny bits." She hid her face in the crook of her arm and broke into sobs.
The man jumped out of his cart and came towards her.
"Are you much hurt?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm not hurt at all! It's my tea-set. My Granny's tea-set that I've never been parted from yet all this long way."
"Why, it's Delight," said the man. "The girl from The Duke. Whatever are you doing here at this hour of the morning? Whoa, Bessie, whoa, girl. I'll tie her to this post and help you on to your pins."
It was Fergussen, the fishmonger. Delight had talked to him often when he brought fish to the hotel. His broad face looked friendly but she wished he had not seen her. He would tell them all of her mishap and they would think it served her right. He might even tell them that she had run out of the tailor's door.
Fergussen got her to her feet and picked up the basket of dishes. He lifted the canvas that covered them and said cheerfully:
"Nary a crack. They've just rattled about a bit. They're like yourself, they're made of the best material. Now, what I want to know is where you're running to. Are you in some nasty fix?"
"I'm turned off. I'm taking the train to the city."
"Well, you'll never get her, for there she goes now. You'll have to wait for the next."
The train hissed. The bell tolled, clanged, and then the locomotive came into view on the level crossing at the end of the street.
"Yes, you've missed her. The next train's at nine o'clock. Four hours to wait, my good girl."
"Oh, whatever shall I do? I can't go back to the
