up.

When he had returned to the High Street he found there numbers of those
who had visited the Fete and were now desirous only of getting home.
He helped them to harness their horses, assuring them that the beasts
were theirs. If he were asked for a dog-cart he selected the first to
hand, and then sought out a horse of suitable size and harnessed it to
the vehicle.

If any demur were made, or if identification marks were sought, he
hurried the objector off, telling him that he ought to be glad he had
got a horse at all.

Bindle was grinning comfortably at the thought of the days it would
take to sort out the horses and vehicles, when he saw in the distance a
bicycle being ridden by someone obviously in a hurry.

As it came nearer he recognised the rider as Dick Little, who pedalled
up beside the van and tendered a sovereign to Bindle.

"No, sir," Bindle remarked, shaking his head. "I'm a bit of a sport
myself. Lord! wasn't they drunk!" He chuckled quietly. "That young
parson chap, too. No, sir, I been paid in fun."

After a somewhat lengthy discussion carried on in whispers, so that the
driver should not hear, Bindle suggested that Dick Little had better
come inside the van, as if anyone were to see them it might result in
suspicion.

"Yer seem to like a little joke," he added. "I can tell yer about some
as won't make yer want to cry."

An hour later, when Dick Little hunched his bicycle from the tail of
the van he said:

"Well, come and see me in London; I'm generally in Sunday evenings."

"Right, sir; I will," replied Bindle; "but might I arst, sir, wot it
was that made 'em so fidgety?"

"It was pure alcohol mixed with distilled mead," was the reply.

"Well, it done the trick. Good-night, sir. Lord! won't there be some
'eads wantin' 'oldin' in the mornin'," and he laughed joyously as the
pantechnicon rumbled noisily Londonwards.

CHAPTER X

MR. HEARTY PRAYS FOR BINDLE

Mrs. Bindle had just returned from evening chapel. On Sundays,
especially on Sunday evenings, when there had been time for the
cumulative effect of her devotions to manifest itself, Mrs. Bindle was
always in a chastened mood. She controlled those gusts of temper which
plunged her back into the Doric and precipitated Bindle "into 'ell,
dust an' all."

On this particular evening she was almost gentle. The bangs with which
she accentuated the placing of each plate and dish upon the table were
_piano_ bangs, and Bi