'I'll never go to another bazaar as long as ever I live.

My hand is swollen as big as a pudding.

I expect the nails in her horrible boots were poisoned.' Just then some one who seemed to have a right to interfere said-- 'Everything is over now; you had better go home.' So they went.

And then they waited on the pavement under the gas lamp, where ragged children had been standing all the evening to listen to the band, and their feet slipped about in the greasy mud till Mrs Biddle came out and was driven away in a cab with the many things she hadn't sold, and the few things she had bought--among others the carpet.

The other stall-holders left their things at the school till Monday morning, but Mrs Biddle was afraid some one would steal some of them, so she took them in a cab.
The children, now too desperate to care for mud or appearances, hung on behind the cab till it reached Mrs Biddle's house.