had money enough to pay for ourselves—nobody would take us."
"Take!" answered Robin, working at his screws. "No, nobody would. What's the matter with taking ourselves?"
Meg sat up in the straw, conscious of a sort of shock.
"To go by ourselves! like grown-up people! To buy our tickets ourselves and get on the train and go all the way alone—and walk about the Fair alone! Robin!"
"Who takes care of us here?" answered Robin. "Who has looked after us ever since father and mother died? Ourselves! just ourselves! Whose business are we but our own! Who thinks of us or asks if we are happy or unhappy?"
"Nobody," said Meg, and she hid her face in her arms on her knees.
Robin went on stubbornly.
"Nobody is ever going to do it," he said, "if we live to be hundreds of years old. I've thought of it when I've been working in the field with Jones, and I've thought of it when I've been lying awake at night. It's kept me awake many and many a time."
"So it has me," said Meg.
"And since this thing began to be talked about
