“It’s the healthy ones who get it,” said Mrs. Grumble with a sigh.  “God moves in a mysterious way.”

“His wonders to perform.”

Mrs. Grumble arose and placed a kettle of water on the stove.  “We’ll have some tea,” she said, “and I’ll cook you some fritters.  Jeminy is out.  Then we’ll go to the fair.”

“Glory,” said Miss Beal.

After lunch the two women put on their bonnets and went to take their seats in the Milford stage.  As the wagon set out, creaking and crowded, everyone began to talk; and so, with cheeks reddened by the wind, rolled, still talking, into Milford.

The fair grounds were in a meadow, bounded on one side by a stream, and, beyond it, a wood already brown and blue with cold.  Over the dead grass the bright colors of the fair shone in the sun; one could hear the music and the voices almost a mile away.  On the other side of the field rose a gentle slope covered with goldenrod and white and purple blooms in which the bees and wasps were still busy.  There, above the crowd of men and women, the happy insects were bringing to a close their own bazaar, begun amid the showers of early spring.  Here was the bee, with his milch-cow, the ant with her souvenir, and the mild cricket, amused like Miss Beal by everything.  Here, also, the wealthy spider, slung upon her twig, waited in patience for the homeless fly.  And as, in comfort, she fed upon his juices, she exclaimed:  “The right to fasten my web to this twig is a serious matter.  For without me the fly would be wasted, and would not obtain a proper burial.”

“I am very comfortable here,” she added, “and I believe I have a right to this place, which, but for me, would be only a twig, and of no use to anybody.”

Below, in the meadow, our two friends went arm in arm about the fair grounds; Miss Beal bought, as her first purchase, a spool of ribbon; and Mrs. Grumble had her fortune told.  They rode on the carousel, all the while thinking:  “This is really too silly.”  As Mrs. Grumble climbed down from her wooden horse, she said to herself:  “I’m having as good a time as that little girl with the pigtails, who is going around for the fifth time.”

If they turned west, their eyes were filled with the afternoon sun; when they looked east, they saw the maples, yellow and green, against the farther woods, the autumn sky, swept by its bright winds.  All about them men and women rejoiced in the sunshine, told each other it was a fine day, and looked for some cause of dispute.

“The races are going to begin,” said Mrs. Grumble, and taking her friend by the arm, made her way toward the track, where she could see the horses going gravely up and down.  “There is a good one,” she said; “see how he jumps about.”

The drivers wheeled into line, and sped away with a rush; the band played and the spectators shouted.

“Oh, my,” said Miss Beal, “look there.”  And she pointed to where Mr. Jeminy, close to the fence, was dancing up and down, waving his hat in the air.  “Why, the old fool,” said Mrs. Grumble.