"Man in the lump's a hateful animal," she said to herself, hoarsely.
"Come indoors, Jonathan, an' let 'em go by."
"Come an' rule over us," the crowd invited him, and a gleam of proud
delight woke in his silly face.
"The heat--his head won't stand it." The woman looked up at the
cloudless sky. "For God's sake take your fun elsewhere!" she cried.
The women who were led to judgment looked at her stupidly. They too
suffered, without understanding, the heavy sport of men. At last one
said--
"Old woman, let him come. We'll have more mercy from a mazed man."
"Sister, you've been loose, they tell me," answered the old woman,
"an' must eat the bitter fruit o't. But my son's an innocent.
Jonathan, they'll look for you at the works."
"There's prouder work for me 'pon Dragon's Moor," the Mounster
decided, with smiling eyes. "Come along, mother, an' see me
exalted."
The crowd bore him off at their head, and the din broke out again.
The new Mayor strutted among them with lifted chin and a radiant
face. He thought it glorious. His mother ran into the cottage,
fetched a bottle and followed after the dusty tail of the procession.
Once, as they were passing a running stream, she halted and filled
the bottle carefully, emptying it again and again until the film
outside the glass was to her liking. Then she followed again, and
came to Dragon's Moor.
They sat the Mayor on a mound, took off his hat, placed a crown on
his head and a broomstick in his hand, and brought him the cases to
try.
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