Fawn at the Uxbridge Fair

”Hey Fawn,” said Jenny Hansen, coming down the laneway to the barn. ”Do you want to go to the fair?”

”What fair?” asked Fawn.

”There is a fair in Uxbridge,” said Jenny. ”We are going this afternoon.”

”Uxbridge?” asked Fawn. ”Where is that?”

“Uxbridge is just north of Whitby a little ways,” said Jenny.

”Is Spot going?” asked Fawn.

”Yes she is,” said Jenny.

”Alright,” said Fawn. ”Then I’ll come.”

”Oh good,” said Jenny. ”I’ll go tell Dad and he’ll get the truck ready for you.”

”Okay,” said Fawn.

A few minutes later, Fawn saw Mr. Hansen drive up to the barn door. Fawn went over to where he was loading Spot.

”You coming too?” Spot asked Fawn, when she saw Mr. Hansen loading Fawn onto the truck, too.

”Yes,” said Fawn.

”Good,” said Spot. ”We will have lots of fun!”

The first thing that Fawn and Spot saw at the Uxbridge Fair was a helicopter.

”Oh look!” exclaimed Fawn, excitedly. “A helicopter!”

The helicopter started to go up into the air. Fawn was very fascinated by it. He stood in the middle of the parking lot, staring at it.

“Come on, Fawn,” said Spot. “There is lots more to see yet!”

“Oh look,” said Fawn, finally turning away from the helicopter. “Look at all the cars!”

There, in front of Fawn was row upon row of antique cars.

”Now, Fawn,” said Mr. Hansen. ”Don’t touch those cars.”

”Okay,” said Fawn. ”I won’t!”

Fawn saw a blue 1968 Firebird right in front of him and just ran up to it, forgetting Mr. Hansen’s warning.

”Fawn!” screamed Jenny. ”Watch out!”

It was too late. Fawn had run into the Firebird head on.

”Oh Fawn!” cried Mr. Hansen. ”What have you done?”

The owner of the car came over to see what all the commotion was about.

“Looks like the car is alright,” the owner declared after a careful examination of it.

”Fawn you’re lucky,” said Mr. Hansen.

”But just look at that car!” exclaimed Fawn.

”Yes,” admitted Mr. Hansen. ”It is a beautiful car.”

”Oh look,” said Spot, trying to divert Fawn’s attention away from the cars. ”There’s the midway!”

Fawn took off racing to the midway as fast as he could go.

“Fawn!” cried Mr. Hansen. “You’re going to hurt someone.”

Fawn came to an abrupt halt only one inch from tumbling a little boy over.

”Oh Fawn!” cried Jenny. ”Be careful!”

Fawn smelled french-fries and was about to take a run for them, but Mr. Hansen had a grip on the rope that was around Fawn’s head.

”I will get you some fries,” laughed Jenny when she saw the look of defeat on Fawn’s face.

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