on the moonlit water when Macy arrived with his handcuffs. Brandishing them aloft, he shouted:
"Don't think you can escape me, Mrs. Jessop! You shall spend tonight in gaol."
"Gaol!" Mrs. Jessop's resonant voice threw back the word in scorn. "Gaol! As though I was afraid of your little one-horse county gaol! Now, I'll tell you, I was born in a prison—a real penitentiary—a lot I care for your little tupenny-hapenny gaol!"
After that terrible speech the two girls were glad to put her ashore and turn in the opposite direction. She was a bad woman and they wanted nothing more to do with her. . . . That night she disappeared and was not seen again in Brancepeth.
The older men, and the sadder, had drifted away, but the young, light-hearted ones hung about while succeeding boatloads of girls landed, and imperceptibly group melted into group. What was the use of holding spite? And on a night like this, warm with the last kiss of summer?
They merged together. Soon a game of hide and seek was in progress. Dark forms holding hands darted among the willows. Faint cries were uttered.
The great red moon shining on the race course, transformed the white dust to gold, so that it resembled a huge wedding ring couched on the velvet of the turf.
