until a windlass pulls it down. You fill us with food that would kill a wild goat, but you still last! And may you always do so; for, within your flapping, bulging canvas walls, city man rubs against town man, rich and poor girls bump, snobs attain no right of way, and a proud, happy boy or girl shows a “First Class” satin ribbon which a lovingly brought-up calf or poultry brood has won.
Only a satin ribbon, but, displaying it to a group of admiring young pals brings to a child that natural thrill from accomplishing anything worthy of public acclaim. Such thrills will not crowd in as Maturity supplants Youth; and so I say, “a trio of our customary huzzas” for any child who can carry away a satin ribbon from a County Fair.
But what about our good Mayor during all this circus hullabaloo? Did important thoughts for still improving Branton Hills pass through his busy mind? Not just now; but fond, anxious thoughts did; for his mind was constantly on Nancy; tiny, darling Nancy, his baby girl. For, during that noisy carnival, folks saw (or thought so, you know), a big bird with long shanks and a monstrous bill, circling round and round that small bungalow’s roof, plainly looking for a spot to land on. Lady Gadsby and old Doctor Wilkins saw it, too, and told Nancy that that big hospital which
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