The hay-trusser, which he obviously was, nodded with some superciliousness.  Looking towards the village, he continued, “There is something going on here, however, is there not?”

“Ay.  ’Tis Fair Day.  Though what you hear now is little more than the clatter and scurry of getting away the money o’ children and fools, for the real business is done earlier than this.  I’ve been working within sound o’t all day, but I didn’t go up—­not I.  ’Twas no business of mine.”

The trusser and his family proceeded on their way, and soon entered the Fair-field, which showed standing-places and pens where many hundreds of horses and sheep had been exhibited and sold in the forenoon, but were now in great part taken away.  At present, as their informant had observed, but little real business remained on hand, the chief being the sale by auction of a few inferior animals, that could not otherwise be disposed of, and had been absolutely refused by the better class of traders, who came and went early.  Yet the crowd was denser now than during the morning hours, the frivolous contingent of visitors, including journeymen out for a holiday, a stray soldier or two come on furlough, village shopkeepers, and the like, having latterly flocked in; persons whose activities found a congenial field among the peep-shows, toy-stands, waxworks, inspired monsters, disinterested medical men who travelled for the public good, thimble-riggers, nick-nack vendors, and readers of Fate.

Neither of our pedestrians had much heart for these things, and they looked around for a refreshment tent among the many which dotted the down.  Two, which stood nearest to them in the ochreous haze of expiring sunlight, seemed almost equally inviting.  One was formed of new, milk-hued canvas, and bore red flags on its summit; it announced “Good Home-brewed Beer, Ale, and Cyder.”  The other was less new; a little iron stove-pipe came out of it at the back and in front appeared the placard, “Good Furmity Sold Hear.”  The man mentally weighed the two inscriptions and inclined to the former tent.

“No—­no—­the other one,” said the woman.  “I always like furmity; and so does Elizabeth-Jane; and so will you.  It is nourishing after a long hard day.”

“I’ve never tasted it,” said the man.  However, he gave way to her representations, and they entered the furmity booth forthwith.

A rather numerous company appeared within, seated at the long narrow tables that ran down the tent on each side.  At the upper end stood a stove, containing a charcoal fire, over which hung a large three-legged crock, sufficiently polished round the rim to show that it was made of bell-metal.  A haggish creature of about fifty presided, in a white apron, which as it threw an air of respectability over her as far as it extended, was made so wide as to reach nearly round her waist.  She slowly stirred the contents of the pot.  The dull scrape of her large spoon was audible throughout the tent as she thus kept from burning the mixture of corn in the grain, flour, milk, raisins, currants, and what not, that composed the antiquated slop in which she dealt.  Vessels holding the separate ingredients stood on a white-clothed table of boards and trestles close by.