He did not notice it. He
crossed a path and was at a turnstile. A man asked him for money. He paid
a shilling and moved forward. He liked crowds; he wanted crowds now.
Either crowds or no one. Crowds where he would be lost and not noticed.
So many thousands were there, but nevertheless he was noticed. That was
the Archdeacon. Who would have thought that he would come to the Fair? Too
grand. But there he was. Yes, that was the Archdeacon. That tall man in
the soft black hat. Yes, some noticed him. But many thousands did not. The
Fair was packed; strangers from all the county over, sailors and gipsies
and farmers and tramps, women no better than they should be, and shop-
girls and decent farmers' wives, and village girls--all sorts! Thousands,
of course, to whom the Archdeacon meant nothing.
And that _was_ a Fair, the most wonderful our town had ever seen, the
most wonderful it ever was to see! As with many other things, that Jubilee
Fair marked a period. No Fairs again like the good old Fairs--general
education has seen to that.
It was a Fair, as there are still some to remember, that had in it a
strange element of fantasy.
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