Bells ringing, flags waving, may-poles—so long unseen—bonfires in due preparation for night, morris-dancers, who had practised for the last four-and-twenty hours unremittingly to refresh their ancient craft, an ox roasted whole, cakes, ale, crowds, confusion,—all assembled in and about Avonleigh Park, to greet the master's return.
"I shall not be the best little one much longer, for I am growing very fast since we left England. Dr. Bartolomé says it is the climate, and that I may go on for a year or two; and, being quite tall enough already, I am willing to leave Marseilles whenever you please, for I don't want to be a may-pole."
