He did not trouble to light a candle in his room but was about to undress and jump into bed when an unexpected sound made him pause. The sound, which came from the bed, was a muffled and broken gulping, somewhat resembling the grunts of a small pig. "Who's there?" Simon said cautiously. The only reply was a dejected sniff. Beginning to guess what he should see, Simon found and lit his stump of candle; it displayed a small miserable figure curled up on his bed with its face hidden in the pillow. "Dido! What are you doing up here? What's the matter?" She raised a tear-stained face and said woefully, "Ma won't let me go to the Fair!" "Why not? Have you been naughty?" "No, I never. But she was in a fair tweak about summat Pa said—they was at it hammer and tongs, I heard him shouting that she was under the thumb of her havey-cavey kin and would have us all in the Pongo—and then when I asked about the Fair she just glammered at me and said no." "Well, you were a dunderhead to ask her when she was cross, weren't you," Simon said, but not unkindly.
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