CHAPTER XXX.
"A fool's mouth is his destruction." The superficial reader of these pages may possibly have forgotten, but the earnest one will undoubtedly remember that in an earlier chapter a sale of work was mentioned which was to take place in the Wilderleigh gardens at the end of August.
The end of August had now arrived, and with it two white tents, which sprang up suddenly one morning, like giant mushrooms, on one of Doll's smooth-shaven lawns.

He groaned in spirit as he watched their erection.
They would ruin the turf.
"Might as well iron it with a hot iron," he said, disconsolately to Hugh.

"But, of course, this sort of thing--Diocesan Fund, eh?
In these days we must stand by our colors." He repeated Mr.Gresley's phrase.
Doll seldom ventured on an opinion not sanctioned by the ages, or that he had not heard repeated till its novelty had been comfortably rubbed off by his wife or the Gresleys.
The two men watched the proceedings mournfully.

They could not help, at least they were told they could not help the women busily engaged in draping and arranging the stalls.

They were still at large, but Doll knew, as well as a dog who is going to be washed, what was in store for him in the afternoon, and he was depressed beforehand.
"Don't let yourself be run in," he said, generously to Hugh.