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Once inside, her senses reeled. There were strings of electric lights between the trees, and their brilliance was dazzling. She could smell frankfurters and cotton candy and popcorn. Ahead of her were booths and pavilions with gaudily painted signs. And there was music — a hooting, languishing oom-pah-pah that made Maud want to dip and sway. Straight ahead of her — making the music — was the merry-go-round. Maud flew to it like a phoenix toward the sun.

It was as spectacular as the ocean. Maud knew that a merry-go-round was a circle of wooden horses, but she had not dreamed of horses like these: spirited, glossy creatures with manes that soared upward like tongues of fire. Nor were the horses all; they were partnered with creatures that Maud knew only through the rumors of geography. She saw a tiger, brazenly orange and baring his teeth; the haughtiest of camels; a bear with a dotingly friendly smile. The animals were richly caparisoned, and their saddles were adorned with sphinxes and gargoyles and jewels. There was a painted backdrop with mountains and castles; there were mirrors and lights and stars and rosettes. Maud was struck dumb. She did not even envy the children who rode. She was content to stand and watch.

The music was slowing. A coal-black horse passed her. Then a pig with the garland of flowers around his neck. An ostrich, a stag, a hare. The children slid off their mounts, and others came forward to ride.

Maud did not intend to steal a ride. She was simply unable to help herself. Before she knew it, she had ducked under the striped canopy and clambered up the side of the merry-go-round. She was weaving her way between the horses, choosing a mount, when a large man caught her by the shoulders. “Whoa, there!”

Maud looked up. She had known very few men in her life, and she was a little afraid of them. This man was peculiar-looking. He was red-bearded, and he had an enormous belly, which he followed as if it were a dog he was taking for a walk. His hands were huge, and she could smell his sweat, but he held her away from him respectfully. “You need a ticket,” he told her. “Do you have a ticket?”

“A ticket?” echoed Maud.

“You need a ticket,” the man said patiently. He pointed to a red-painted booth beside the carousel. “It costs a nickel. You stand in line and get a ticket.”

Maud looked down at her toes. They were still caked with sand — she had wanted to stop on the boardwalk and pick between them, but she was afraid this action would brand her as a vulgar child. “I haven’t got a nickel.”

“Well, then, you can’t ride.” The man spun her around and steered her off the carousel platform. “It’s crowded tonight, duckling. I need every horse for the customers.” He closed one eye. “When it’s rainy, now, that’s different. I can sometimes give away a ride on a rainy night.”

It took Maud a moment or two to take in the fact that he had made her a promise. By the time she had puzzled it out, he was gone. She took her place among the spectators and watched as the carousel began to spin. A waltz began, oom-pah-pah. If she had been alone, she would have held out her skirts and danced to it.

It was some time before Maud realized that her mood had changed. She kept her eyes on the carousel, but her enchantment was marred by the sense that there was something she ought to notice, something she didn’t especially want to see. Against her will, her attention shifted from the carousel to the face of a woman.

She was a tall and slender woman, dressed in half-mourning and the sort of hat that Maud instinctively classified as “good.” Under her hat, her hair was fair and windblown. Her face was freckled, and there was something wrong with her expression. Unlike the other spectators, she didn’t smile or wave; there was a fearful hunger in her face as she watched the carousel. All at once, and without a shadow of a doubt, Maud knew who she was.

Instinctively, Maud turned to hide, dodging behind a fat woman in a sailor