Quiet, sleepy Gorswen seemed completely transformed. The village street from end to end was an impassable block of charging bullocks, kicking ponies, barking collies, and bawling drovers, which overflowed past the Rectory and up to the Willows on the one hand, and nearly as far as the Abbey gates on the other. Having tried in vain to edge a way through the press, Peggy and Bobby tacked round by the fields, and scrambling over a garden wall, found a temporary refuge in the churchyard, which stood some height above the level of the road, and where, from the vantage-ground of a convenient tombstone, they found they had an excellent view of the fair below. The noise was deafening. Animals were lowing, bellowing, bleating, whinnying, or squeaking in every note of the octave; cocks crew, ducks quacked, dogs barked, and men talked and shouted in Welsh and English till a chance comer might have imagined himself in pandemonium. A cartful of little pigs drawn up beneath the wall rent the air with their cries, and not the least funny incident was to watch a stout farmer's wife, despairing of driving her bargain through the crowd, wrap her squealing purchase in her mantle, and carry him off in her arms, like 'Alice' with the Duchess's baby. Most of the cows had been sold first thing, and were being driven away with much forcible language on the part of their drovers, and it was now the turn of the cart-horses, beautiful glossy creatures with tails tied up with straw and manes plaited with ribbons as if for May-day. By good luck their paces were tried just under the churchyard, so the children got all the fun of the bargaining.