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@@ -0,0 +1,4622 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Polly of the Circus, by Margaret Mayo + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Polly of the Circus + +Author: Margaret Mayo + +Posting Date: August 2, 2008 [EBook #859] +Release Date: March, 1997 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POLLY OF THE CIRCUS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Keller + + + + + +POLLY OF THE CIRCUS + +By Margaret Mayo + + +To My "_KLEINE MUTTER_" + + + + +Chapter I + +The band of the "Great American Circus" was playing noisily. The +performance was in full swing. + +Beside a shabby trunk in the women's dressing tent sat a young, +wistful-faced girl, chin in hand, unheeding the chatter of the women +about her or the picturesque disarray of the surrounding objects. Her +eyes had been so long accustomed to the glitter and tinsel of circus +fineries that she saw nothing unusual in a picture that might have held +a painter spellbound. + +Circling the inside of the tent and forming a double line down the +centre were partially unpacked trunks belching forth impudent masses +of satins, laces, artificial hair, paper flowers, and paste jewels. +The scent of moist earth mingled oddly with the perfumed odours of the +garments heaped on the grass. Here and there high circles of lights +threw a strong, steady glare upon the half-clad figure of a robust +acrobat, or the thin, drooping shoulders of a less stalwart sister. +Temporary ropes stretched from one pole to another, were laden with +bright-coloured stockings, gaudy, spangled gowns, or dusty street +clothes, discarded by the performers before slipping into their circus +attire. There were no nails or hooks, so hats and veils were pinned to +the canvas walls. + +The furniture was limited to one camp chair in front of each trunk, +the till of which served as a tray for the paints, powders and other +essentials of "make-up." + +A pail of water stood by the side of each chair, so that the performers +might wash the delicately shaded tights, handkerchiefs and other small +articles not to be entrusted to the slow, careless process of the +village laundry. Some of these had been washed to-night and hung to dry +on the lines between the dusty street garments. + +Women whose "turns" came late sat about half-clothed reading, crocheting +or sewing, while others added pencilled eyebrows, powder or rouge to +their already exaggerated "make-ups." Here and there a child was putting +her sawdust baby to sleep in the till of her trunk, before beginning +her part in the evening's entertainment. Young and old went about their +duties with a systematic, business-like air, and even the little knot +of excited women near Polly--it seemed that one of the men had upset a +circus tradition--kept a sharp lookout for their "turns." + +"What do you think about it, Polly?" asked a handsome brunette, as she +surveyed herself in the costume of a Roman charioteer. + +"About what?" asked Polly vacantly. + +"Leave Poll alone; she's in one of her trances!" called a motherly, +good-natured woman whose trunk stood next to Polly's, and whose business +was to support a son and three daughters upon stalwart shoulders, both +figuratively and literally. + +"Well, _I_ ain't in any trance," answered the dark girl, "and _I_ think +it's pretty tough for him to take up with a rank outsider, and expect +us to warm up to her as though he'd married one of our own folks." She +tossed her head, the pride of class distinction welling high in her +ample bosom. + +"He ain't asking us to warm up to her," contradicted Mademoiselle +Eloise, a pale, light-haired sprite, who had arrived late and was making +undignified efforts to get out of her clothes by way of her head. She +was Polly's understudy and next in line for the star place in the bill. + +"Well, Barker has put her into the 'Leap of Death' stunt, ain't he?" +continued the brunette. "'Course that ain't a regular circus act," +she added, somewhat mollified, "and so far she's had to dress with +the 'freaks,' but the next thing we know, he'll be ringin' her in on a +regular stunt and be puttin' her in to dress with US." + +"No danger of that," sneered the blonde; "Barker is too old a stager to +mix up his sheep and his goats." + +Polly had again lost the thread of the conversation. Her mind had +gone roving to the night when the frightened girl about whom they +were talking had made her first appearance in the circus lot, clinging +timidly to the hand of the man who had just made her his wife. Her eyes +had met Polly's, with a look of appeal that had gone straight to the +child's simple heart. + +A few nights later the newcomer had allowed herself to be strapped into +the cumbersome "Leap of Death" machine which hurled itself through space +at each performance, and flung itself down with force enough to break +the neck of any unskilled rider. Courage and steady nerve were the +requisites for the job, so the manager had said; but any physician would +have told him that only a trained acrobat could long endure the nervous +strain, the muscular tension, and the physical rack of such an ordeal. + +What matter? The few dollars earned in this way would mean a great deal +to the mother, whom the girl's marriage had left desolate. + +Polly had looked on hungrily the night that the mother had taken the +daughter in her arms to say farewell in the little country town where +the circus had played before her marriage. She could remember no woman's +arms about HER, for it was fourteen years since tender hands had carried +her mother from the performers' tent into the moonlit lot to die. The +baby was so used to seeing "Mumsie" throw herself wearily on the ground +after coming out of the "big top" exhausted, that she crept to the +woman's side as usual that night, and gazed laughingly into the +sightless eyes, gurgling and prattling and stroking the unresponsive +face. There were tears from those who watched, but no word was spoken. + +Clown Toby and the big "boss canvas-man" Jim had always taken turns +amusing and guarding little Polly, while her mother rode in the ring. So +Toby now carried the babe to another side of the lot, and Jim bore the +lifeless body of the mother to the distant ticket-wagon, now closed for +the night, and laid it upon the seller's cot. + +"It's allus like this in the end," he murmured, as he drew a piece of +canvas over the white face and turned away to give orders to the men who +were beginning to load the "props" used earlier in the performance. + +When the show moved on that night it was Jim's strong arms that lifted +the mite of a Polly close to his stalwart heart, and climbed with her to +the high seat on the head wagon. Uncle Toby was entrusted with the brown +satchel in which the mother had always carried Polly's scanty wardrobe. +It seemed to these two men that the eyes of the woman were fixed +steadily upon them. + +Barker, the manager, a large, noisy, good-natured fellow, at first +mumbled something about the kid being "excess baggage," but his +objections were only half-hearted, for like the others, he was already +under the hypnotic spell of the baby's round, confiding eyes, and he +eventually contented himself with an occasional reprimand to Toby, who +was now sometimes late on his cues. Polly wondered, at these times, +why the old man's stories were so suddenly cut short just as she was so +"comfy" in the soft grass at his feet. The boys who used to "look sharp" +because of their boss at loading time, now learned that they might +loiter so long as "Muvver Jim" was "hikin' it round for the kid." It was +Polly who had dubbed big Jim "Muvver," and the sobriquet had stuck to +him in spite of his six feet two, and shoulders that an athlete might +have envied. Little by little, Toby grew more stooped and small lines +of anxiety crept into the brownish circles beneath Jim's eyes, the lips +that had once shut so firmly became tender and tremulous, but neither of +the men would willingly have gone back to the old emptiness. + +It was a red letter day in the circus, when Polly first managed to climb +up on the pole of an unhitched wagon and from there to the back of +a friendly, Shetland pony. Jim and Toby had been "neglectin' her +eddication" they declared, and from that time on, the blood of Polly's +ancestors was given full encouragement. + +Barker was quick to grasp the advantage of adding the kid to the daily +parade. She made her first appearance in the streets upon something very +like a Newfoundland dog, guarded from the rear by Jim, and from the fore +by a white-faced clown who was thought to be all the funnier because he +twisted his neck so much. + +From the street parade to Polly's first appearance in the "big top," +had seemed a short while to Jim and Toby. They were proud to see her +circling the ring in bright colours and to hear the cheers of the +people, but a sense of loss was upon them. + +"I always said she'd do it," cried Barker, who now took upon himself the +credit of Polly's triumph. + +And what a triumph it was! + +Polly danced as serenely on Bingo's back as she might have done on the +"concert boards." She swayed gracefully with the music. Her tiny sandals +twinkled as she stood first upon one foot and then upon the other. + +Uncle Toby forgot to use many of his tricks that night; and Jim left the +loading of the wagons to take care of itself, while he hovered near the +entrance, anxious and breathless. The performers crowded around the girl +with outstretched hands and congratulations, as she came out of the ring +to cheers and applause. + +But Big Jim stood apart. He was thinking of the buttons that his clumsy +fingers used to force into the stiff, starchy holes too small for them +and of the pigtails so stubborn at the ends; and Toby was remembering +the little shoes that had once needed to be laced in the cold, dark +mornings, and the strings that were always snapping. + +Something had gone. + +They were not philosophers to reason like Emerson, that for everything +we lose we gain something; they were simple souls, these two, they could +only feel. + + + +Chapter II + +WHILE Polly sat in the dressing tent, listening indifferently to the +chatter about the "Leap of Death" girl, Jim waited in the lot outside, +opening and shutting a small, leather bag which he had bought for her +that day. He was as blind to the picturesque outdoor life as she to her +indoor surroundings, for he, too, had been with the circus since his +earliest recollection. + +The grass enclosure, where he waited, was shut in by a circle of tents +and wagons. The great, red property vans were waiting to be loaded with +the costumes and tackle which were constantly being brought from the +"big top," where the evening performance was now going on. The gay +striped curtains at the rear of the tent were looped back to give air +to the panting musicians, who sat just inside. Through the opening, +a glimpse of the audience might be had, tier upon tier, fanning and +shifting uneasily. Near the main tent stood the long, low dressing +"top," with the women performers stowed away in one end, the "ring +horses" in the centre, and the men performers in the other end. + +A temporary curtain was hung between the main and the dressing tent, +to shut out the curious mob that tried to peep in at the back lot for a +glimpse of things not to be seen in the ring. + +Coloured streamers, fastened to the roofs of the tents, waved and +floated in the night air and beckoned to the towns-people on the other +side to make haste to get their places, forget their cares, and be +children again. + +Over the tops of the tents, the lurid light of the distant red fire shot +into the sky, accompanied by the cries of the peanut "butchers," the +popcorn boys, the lemonade venders,{sic} and the exhortations of the +side-show "spieler," whose flying banners bore the painted reproductions +of his "freaks." Here and there stood unhitched chariots, half filled +trunks, trapeze tackle, paper hoops, stake pullers or other "properties" +necessary to the show. + +Torches flamed at the tent entrances, while oil lamps and lanterns gave +light for the loading of the wagons. + +There was a constant stream of life shooting in and out from the +dressing tent to the "big top," as gaily decked men, women and animals +came or went. + +Drowsy dogs were stretched under the wagons, waiting their turn to be +dressed as lions or bears. The wise old goose, with his modest grey +mate, pecked at the green grass or turned his head from side to side, +watching the singing clown, who rolled up the painted carcass and long +neck of the imitation giraffe from which two property men had just +slipped, their legs still encased in stripes. + +Ambitious canvas-men and grooms were exercising, feet in air, in the +hope of some day getting into the performers' ring. Property men stole a +minute's sleep in the soft warm grass while they waited for more tackle +to load in the wagons. Children of the performers were swinging on the +tent ropes, chattering monkeys sat astride the Shetland ponies, awaiting +their entrance to the ring. The shrieks of the hyenas in the distant +animal tent, the roaring of the lions and the trumpeting of the +elephants mingled with the incessant clamour of the band. And back of +all this, pointing upward in mute protest, rose a solemn church spire, +white and majestic against a vast panorama of blue, moonlit hills, that +encircled the whole lurid picture. Jim's eyes turned absently toward the +church as he sat fumbling with the lock of the little brown satchel. + +He had gone from store to store in the various towns where they had +played looking for something to inspire wonder in the heart of a miss, +newly arrived at her sixteenth year. Only the desperation of a last +moment had forced him to decide upon the imitation alligator bag, which +he now held in his hand. + +It looked small and mean to him as the moment of presentation +approached, and he was glad that the saleswoman in the little country +store had suggested the addition of ribbons and laces, which he now drew +from the pocket of his corduroys. He placed his red and blue treasures +very carefully in the bottom of the satchel, and remembered with regret +the strand of coral beads which he had so nearly bought to go with them. + +He opened the large property trunk by his side, and took from it +a laundry box, which held a little tan coat, that was to be Toby's +contribution to the birthday surprise. He was big-hearted enough to be +glad that Toby's gift seemed finer and more useful than his. + +It was only when the "Leap of Death" act preceding Polly's turn was +announced, that the big fellow gave up feasting his eyes on the satchel +and coat, and hid them away in the big property trunk. She would be out +in a minute, and these wonders were not to be revealed to her until the +close of the night's performance. + +Jim put down the lid of the trunk and sat upon it, feeling like a +criminal because he was hiding something from Polly. + +His consciousness of guilt was increased as he recalled how often she +had forbidden Toby and himself to rush into reckless extravagances for +her sake, and how she had been more nearly angry than he had ever seen +her, when they had put their month's salaries together to buy her the +spangled dress for her first appearance. It had taken a great many +apologies and promises as to their future behaviour to calm her, and now +they had again disobeyed her. It would be a great relief when to-night's +ordeal was over. + +Jim watched Polly uneasily as she came from the dressing tent and +stopped to gaze at the nearby church steeple. The incongruity of the +slang, that soon came from her delicately formed lips, was lost upon him +as she turned her eyes toward him. + +"Say, Jim," she said, with a Western drawl, "them's a funny lot of guys +what goes to them church places, ain't they?" + +"Most everybody has got some kind of a bug," Jim assented; "I guess they +don't do much harm." + +"'Member the time you took me into one of them places to get me out a +the rain, the Sunday our wagon broke down? Well, that bunch WE butted +into wouldn't a give Sell's Brothers no cause for worry with that show +a' theirn, would they, Jim?" She looked at him with withering disgust. +"Say, wasn't that the punkiest stunt that fellow in black was doin' on +the platform? You said Joe was only ten minutes gettin' the tire onto +our wheel, but say, you take it from me, Jim, if I had to wait another +ten minutes as long as that one, I'd be too old to go on a-ridin'." + +Jim "'lowed" some church shows might be better than "that un," but Polly +said he could have her end of the bet, and summed up by declaring it no +wonder that the yaps in these towns was daffy about circuses, if they +didn't have nothin' better an' church shows to go to. + +One of the grooms was entering the lot with Polly's horse. She stooped +to tighten one of her sandals, and as she rose, Jim saw her sway +slightly and put one hand to her head. He looked at her sharply, +remembering her faintness in the parade that morning. + +"You ain't feeling right," he said uneasily. + +"You just bet I am," Polly answered with an independent toss of her +head. "This is the night we're goin' to make them rubes in there sit up, +ain't it, Bingo?" she added, placing one arm affectionately about the +neck of the big, white horse that stood waiting near the entrance. + +"You bin ridin' too reckless lately," said Jim, sternly, as he followed +her. "I don't like it. There ain't no need of your puttin' in all them +extra stunts. Your act is good enough without 'em. Nobody else ever done +'em, an' nobody'd miss 'em if you left 'em out." + +Polly turned with a triumphant ring in her voice. The music was swelling +for her entrance. + +"You ain't my MOTHER, Jim, you're my GRANDmother," she taunted; and, +with a crack of her whip she was away on Bingo's back. + +"It's the spirit of the dead one that's got into her," Jim mumbled as he +turned away, still seeing the flash in the departing girl's eyes. + + + +Chapter III + +Polly and Bingo always made the audience "sit up" when they swept into +the ring. She was so young, so gaily clad, so light and joyous in all +her poses. She seemed scarcely to touch the back of the white horse, as +they dashed round the ring in the glare of the tent lights. The other +performers went through their work mechanically while Polly rode, for +they knew the audience was watching her only. + +As for Polly, her work had never lost its first interest. Jim may have +been right when he said that the spirit of the dead mother had got into +her; but it must have been an unsatisfied spirit, unable to fulfil its +ambition in the body that once held it, for it sometimes played strange +pranks with Polly. To-night, her eyes shone and her lips were parted in +anticipation, as she leaped lightly over the many coloured streamers of +the wheel of silken ribbons held by Barker in the centre of the ring, +and by Toby and the "tumblers" on the edge of the bank. + +With each change of her act, the audience cheered and frantically +applauded. The band played faster; Bingo's pace increased; the end of +her turn was coming. The "tumblers" arranged themselves around the ring +with paper hoops; Bingo was fairly racing. She went through the first +hoop with a crash of tearing paper and cheers from the audience. + +"Heigh, Bingo!" she shouted, as she bent her knees to make ready for the +final leap. + +Bingo's neck was stretched. He had never gone so fast before. Barker +looked uneasy. Toby forgot to go on with his accustomed tricks. Jim +watched anxiously from the entrance. + +The paper of one hoop was still left unbroken. The attendant turned his +eyes to glance at the oncoming girl; the hoop shifted slightly in his +clumsy hand as Polly leapt straight up from Bingo's back, trusting to +her first calculation. Her forehead struck the edge of the hoop. She +clutched wildly at the air. Bingo galloped on, and she fell to the +ground, striking her head against the iron-bound stake at the edge of +the ring. + +Everything stopped. There was a gasp of horror; the musicians dropped +their instruments; Bingo halted and looked back uneasily; she lay +unconscious and seemingly lifeless. + +A great cry went up in the tent. Panic-stricken, men, women and children +began to clamber down from their seats, while others nearest the ground +attempted to jump into the ring. Barker, still grasping his long whip, +rushed to the girl's side, and shouted wildly to Toby: + +"Say something, you. Get 'em back!" + +Old Toby turned his white face to the crowd, his features worked +convulsively, but he could not speak. His grief was so grotesque, that +the few who saw him laughed hysterically. He could not even go to Polly, +his feet seemed pinned to the earth. + +Jim rushed into the tent at the first cry of the audience. He lifted the +limp form tenderly, and kneeling in the ring held her bruised head in +his hands. + +"Can't you get a doctor!" he shouted desperately to Barker. + +"Here's the doctor!" some one called; and a stranger came toward them. +He bent over the seemingly lifeless form, his fingers on the tiny wrist, +his ear to the heart. + +"Well, sir?" Jim faltered, for he had caught the puzzled look in the +doctor's eyes as his deft hand pressed the cruelly wounded head. + +"I can't tell just yet," said the doctor. "She must be taken away." + +"Where can we take her?" asked Jim, a look of terror in his great, +troubled eyes. + +"The parsonage is the nearest house," said the doctor. "I am sure the +pastor will be glad to have her there until we can find out how badly +she is hurt." + +In an instant Barker was back in the centre of the ring. He announced +that Polly's injuries were slight, called the attention of the audience +to the wonderful concert to take place, and bade them make ready for the +thrilling chariot race which would end the show. + +Jim, blind with despair, lifted the light burden and staggered out of +the tent, while the band played furiously and the people fell back +into their seats. The Roman chariots thundered and clattered around the +outside of the ring, the audience cheered the winner of the race, and +for the moment Polly was forgotten. + + + +Chapter IV + +THE blare of the circus band had been a sore temptation to Mandy Jones +all afternoon and evening. Again and again it had dragged her from +her work to the study window, from which she could see the wonders so +tantalisingly near. Mandy was housekeeper for the Rev. John Douglas, +but the unwashed supper dishes did not trouble her, as she watched the +lumbering elephants, the restless lions, the long-necked giraffes and +the striped zebras, that came and went in the nearby circus lot. And +yet, in spite of her own curiosity, she could not forgive her vagrant +"worse half," Hasty, who had been lured from duty early in the day. She +had once dubbed him Hasty, in a spirit of derision, and the name had +clung to him. The sarcasm seemed doubly appropriate to-night, for he had +been away since ten that morning, and it was now past nine. + +The young pastor for a time had enjoyed Mandy's tirades against her +husband, but when she began calling shrilly out of the window to chance +acquaintances for news of him, he slipped quietly into the next room to +finish to-morrow's sermon. Mandy renewed her operations at the window +with increased vigour when the pastor had gone. She was barely saved +from pitching head foremost into the lot, by the timely arrival of +Deacon Strong's daughter, who managed, with difficulty, to connect the +excited woman's feet with the floor. + +"Foh de Lor' sake!" Mandy gasped, as she stood panting for breath and +blinking at the pretty, young, apple-faced Julia; "I was suah most gone +dat time." Then followed another outburst against the delinquent Hasty. + +But the deacon's daughter did not hear; her eyes were already wandering +anxiously to the lights and the tinsel of the little world beyond the +window. + +This was not the first time to-day that Mandy had found herself talking +to space. There had been a steady stream of callers at the parsonage +since eleven that morning, but she had long ago confided to the pastor +that she suspected their reasons. + +"Dey comes in here a-trackin' up my floors," she said, "and a-askin' +why you don' stop de circus from a-showin' nex' to de church and den +a-cranin' afar necks out de winder, till I can't get no housework done." + +"That's only human nature," Douglas had answered with a laugh; but +Mandy had declared that she knew another name for it, and had mumbled +something about "hypocritters," as she seized her broom and began to +sweep imaginary tracks from in front of the door. + +Many times she had made up her mind to let the next caller know just +what she thought of "hypocritters," but her determination was usually +weakened by her still greater desire to excite increased wonder in the +faces of her visitors. + +Divided between these two inclinations, she gazed at Julia now; the +shining eyes of the deacon's daughter conquered, and she launched forth +into an eager description of how she had just seen a "wondeful striped +anamule" with a "pow'ful long neck walk right out of the tent," and how +he had "come apart afore her very eyes," and two men had slipped "right +out a' his insides." Mandy was so carried away by her own eloquence and +so busy showing Julia the sights beyond the window, that she did not +hear Miss Perkins, the thin-lipped spinster, who entered, followed by +the Widow Willoughby dragging her seven-year-old son Willie by the hand. + +The women were protesting because their choir practice of "What +Shall the Harvest Be?" had been interrupted by the unrequested +acompaniment{sic} of the "hoochie coochie" from the nearby circus band. + +"It's scandalous!" Miss Perkins snapped. "Scandalous! And SOMEBODY ought +to stop it." She glanced about with an unmistakable air of grievance at +the closed doors, feeling that the pastor was undoubtedly behind one of +them, when he ought to be out taking action against the things that her +soul abominated. + +"Well, I'm sure I'VE done all that _I_ could," piped the widow, with +a meek, martyred air. She was always martyred. She considered it an +appropriate attitude for a widow. "He can't blame ME if the choir is out +of key to-morrow." "Mercy me!" interrupted the spinster, "if there isn't +Julia Strong a-leaning right out of that window a-looking at the circus, +and her pa a deacon of the church, and this the house of the pastor. +It's shocking! I must go to her." + +"Ma, let me see, too," begged Willie, as he tugged at his mother's +skirts. + +Mrs. Willoughby hesitated. Miss Perkins was certainly taking a long +while for her argument with Julia. The glow from the red powder outside +the window was positively alarming. + +"Dear me!" she said, "I wonder if there can be a fire." And with this +pretext for investigation, she, too, joined the little group at the +window. + +A few moments later when Douglas entered for a fresh supply of paper, +the backs of the company were toward him. He crossed to the study table +without disturbing his visitors, and smiled to himself at the eager way +in which they were hanging out of the window. + +Douglas was a sturdy young man of eight and twenty, frank and boyish in +manner, confident and light-hearted in spirit. He had seemed too young +to the deacons when he was appointed to their church, and his keen +enjoyment of outdoor games and other healthful sports robbed him of a +certain dignity in their eyes. Some of the women of the congregation had +been inclined to side with the deacons, for it hurt their vanity that +the pastor found so many other interests when he might have been sitting +in dark, stuffy rooms discussing theology with them; but Douglas had +been either unconscious of or indifferent to their resentment, and had +gone on his way with a cheery nod and an unconquerable conviction of +right, that had only left them floundering. He intended to quit the room +now unnoticed, but was unfortunate enough to upset a chair as he turned +from the table. This brought a chorus of exclamations from the women, +who chattering rushed quickly toward him. + +"What do you think of my naughty boy, Willie?" simpered the widow. "He +dragged me quite to the window." + +Douglas glanced amusedly first at the five-foot-six widow and then at +the helpless, red-haired urchin by her side, but he made no comment +beyond offering a chair to each of the women. + +"Our choir practice had to be entirely discontinued," declared Miss +Perkins sourly, as she accepted the proffered chair, adjusted her skirts +for a stay, and glanced defiantly at the parson, who had dutifully +seated himself near the table. + +"I am sure _I_ have as true an ear as anybody," whimpered the widow, +with an injured air; "but I defy ANY ONE to lead 'What Shall the +Harvest Be?' to an accompaniment like THAT." She jerked her hand in +the direction of the window. The band was again playing the "hoochie +coochie." + +"Never mind about the choir practice," said Douglas, with a smile. "It +is SOUL not SKILL that our congregation needs in its music. As for that +music out there, it is NOT without its compensations. Why, the small +boys would rather hear that band than the finest church organ in the +world." + +"And the SMALL BOYS would rather see the circus than to hear you preach, +most likely," snapped Miss Perkins. It was adding insult to injury for +him to try to CONSOLE her. + +"Of course they would; and so would some of the grown-ups if they'd only +tell the truth about it," said Douglas, laughing. + +"What!" exclaimed Miss Perkins. + +"Why not?" asked Douglas. "I am sure I don't know what they do inside +the tents, but the parade looked very promising." + +"The PARADE!" the two women echoed in one breath. "Did YOU see the +parade?" + +"Yes, indeed," said Douglas, enthusiastically. "But it didn't compare +with the one I saw at the age of eight." He turned his head to one side +and looked into space with a reminiscent smile. The widow's red-haired +boy crept close to him. + +"The Shetland ponies seemed as small as mice," he continued, dreamily, +"the elephants huge as mountains, the great calliope wafted my soul to +the very skies, and I followed that parade right into the circus lot." + +"Did you seed inside de tent?" Willie asked, eagerly. + +"I didn't have enough money for that," Douglas answered, frankly. +He turned to the small boy and pinched his ear. There was sad +disappointment in the youngster's face, but he brightened again, when +the parson confessed that he "peeped." + +"A parson peeping!" cried the thin-lipped Miss Perkins. + +"I was not a parson then," corrected Douglas, good-naturedly. + +"You were GOING to be," persisted the spinster. + +"I had to be a boy first, in spite of that fact." + +The sudden appearance of Hasty proved a diversion. He was looking very +sheepish. + +"Hyar he is, Mars John; look at him!" said Mandy. + +"Hasty, where have you been all day?" demanded Douglas, severely. + +Hasty fumbled with his hat and sparred for time. "Did yo' say whar's I +been, sah?" + +"Dat's what he done ast yo'," Mandy prompted, threateningly. + +"I bin 'ceived, Mars John," declared Hasty, solemnly. Mandy snorted +incredulously. Douglas waited. + +"A gemmen in de circus done tole me dis mawnin' dat ef I carry water +fo' de el'phants, he'll let me in de circus fo' nuffin', an' I make a +'greement wid him. Mars John, did yo' ebber seed an' el'phant drink?" he +asked, rolling his eyes. John shook his head. + +"Well, sah, he jes' put dat trunk a'his'n into de pail, jes' once +an--swish--water gone." + +Douglas laughed; and Mandy muttered, sullenly. + +"Well, sah," continued Hasty, "I tote water fo' dem el'phants all day +long, an' when I cum roun' to see de circus, de gemmen won't let me in. +An' when I try to crawl under de tent, dey pulls me out by de laigs an' +beats me." He looked from one to the other expecting sympathy. + +"Serves you right," was Mandy's unfeeling reply. "If yo's so anxious to +be a-totin' water, jes' yo' come along outside and tote some fo' Mandy." + +"I can't do no mo' carryin', Mandy," protested Hasty. "I'se hurted in +mah arm." + +"What hurt yo'?" + +"Tiger." + +"A tiger?" exclaimed the women in unison. + +"Done chawed it mos' off," he declared, solemnly. "Deacon Elverson, he +seed it, an' he says I's hurt bad." + +"Deacon Elverson?" cried the spinster. "Was Deacon Elverson at the +circus?" + +"He was in de lot, a-tryin' to look in, same as me," Hasty answered, +innocently. + +"You'd better take Hasty into the kitchen," said Douglas to Mandy, with +a dry smile; "he's talking too much for a wounded man." + +Mandy disappeared with the disgraced Hasty, advising him with fine scorn +"to get de tiger to chew off his laigs, so's he wouldn't have to walk no +mo'." + +The women gazed at each other with lips closed tightly. Elverson's +behaviour was beyond their power of expression. Miss Perkins turned +to the pastor, as though he were somehow to blame for the deacon's +backsliding, but before she could find words to argue the point, the +timid little deacon appeared in the doorway, utterly unconscious of the +hostile reception that Hasty had prepared for him. He glanced nervously +from one set face to the other, then coughed behind his hat. + +"We're all very much interested in the circus," said Douglas. "Can't you +tell us about it?" + +"I just went into the lot to look for my son," stammered the deacon. "I +feared Peter had strayed." + +"Why, deacon," said Mrs. Willoughby. "I just stopped by your house and +saw Mrs. Elverson putting Peter to bed." + +The deacon was saved from further embarrassment by an exclamation from +Julia, who had stayed at the window. "Oh, look; something has happened!" +she cried. "There's a crowd. They are coming this way." + +Douglas crossed quickly to Julia's side, and saw an excited mob +collecting before the entrance to the main tent. He had time to discover +no more before Mandy burst in at the door, panting with excitement and +rolling her large, white-rimmed eyeballs. + +"Mars John, a little circus girl done fall off her hoss!" she cried. +"Dr. Hartley say can dey bring her in heah?" + +"Of course," said Douglas, hurrying outside. + +There were horrified exclamations from the women, who were aghast at the +idea of a circus rider in the parsonage. In their helpless indignation, +they turned upon the little deacon, feeling intuitively that he was +enjoying the drama. Elverson was retreating toward the door when he was +suddenly thrust aside by Douglas. + +In the young pastor's arms was a white, spangled burden of humanity, her +slender arm hung lifeless over his shoulder. The silk stocking was torn +from one bruised ankle; her hair fell across her face, veiling it from +the unfriendly glances of the women. Douglas passed out of sight up the +stairway without looking to the right or left, followed by the doctor. + +Mandy reached the front door in time to push back a crowd of intruders. +She had barely closed the door when it was thrust open by Jim. + +"Where is she?" he demanded. + +"Go 'way f'um here!" cried Mandy, as her eyes unconsciously sought the +stairs. + +Jim followed the direction of her glance, and cleared the steps at a +bound. Mandy pursued him, muttering angrily. Deacon Elverson, too, was +about to follow, when a grim reminder from Miss Perkins brought him +around and he made for the door instead. He started back on opening it, +for standing on the threshold was a clown in his grotesque "make-up"; +his white clothes were partially concealed by a large, travelling +ulster, held together by one button. In one hand he carried a small +leather satchel; in the other a girl's sailor hat; a little tan coat was +thrown across his arm. The giggles of the boy hiding behind his mother's +skirt were the only greetings received by the trembling old man in the +doorway. + +He glanced uncertainly from one unfriendly face to the other, waiting +for a word of invitation to enter; but none came. + +"Excuse me," he said; "I just brought some of her little things. She'd +better put on her coat when she goes out. It's gettin' kinder chilly." + +He looked again into the blank faces; still no one spoke. He stepped +forward, trembling with anxiety. A sudden fear clutched at his heart, +the muscles of his face worked pitifully, the red painted lips began to +quiver. + +"It ain't--It ain't that, is it?" he faltered, unable to utter the word +that filled him with horror. + +Even Miss Perkins was momentarily touched by the anguish in the old +man's voice. "I guess you will find the person you are looking for +upstairs," she answered tartly; and flounced out of the house, calling +to Julia and the others to follow her, and declaring that she would soon +let folks know how the parson had brought a "circus ridin' girl" into +the parsonage. + +The painted clown stood alone, looking from one wall to the other, then +he crossed the room and placed the alligator satchel and the little coat +and hat on the study table. He was careful not to wrinkle the coat, +for this was Polly's birthday gift. Jim and he had planned to have +sandwiches and soda pop on the top of the big wagon when they offered +their treasures tonight; but now the wagons would soon be leaving--and +where was Polly? He turned to ask this question as Mandy came down the +stairs. + +"Well, if dar ain't anudder one," she cried. + +"Never mind, Mandy," said Douglas, who was just behind her, carrying a +small water pitcher, and searching for a bottle of brandy which had been +placed in the medicine chest for emergencies. + +"You can take these upstairs," he told her, when he had filled the +pitcher with water and found the liquor. Mandy looked threateningly at +Toby, then reluctantly went on her way. + +Douglas turned to the old man pleasantly. His was the first greeting +that Toby had received, and he at last found voice to ask whether Polly +was badly hurt. + +"The doctor hasn't told us yet," said Douglas, kindly. + +"I'm her Uncle Toby--not her REAL uncle," the old man explained, "but +that's what she calls me. I couldn't come out right away, because I'm on +in the concert. Could I see her now, please?" + +"Here's the doctor," said Douglas, as Hartley came down the stairs, +followed by Jim. "Well, doctor, not bad, I hope?" + +"Yes, rather bad," said the doctor, adding quickly, as he saw the +suffering in Toby's face, "but don't be alarmed. She's going to get +well." + +"How long will it be before we can have her back--before she can ride +again?" asked Jim gruffly, as he stood apart, twisting his brown, worn +hat in his hands. + +"Probably several months," said the doctor. "No bones are broken, but +the ligaments of one ankle are torn, and she received a bad blow on the +head. It will be some time before she recovers consciousness." "What are +we goin' to do, Jim?" asked Toby, helplessly. + +"You needn't worry, we'll take good care of her here," said Douglas, +seeing desperation written on their faces. + +"Here?" They looked at him incredulously.--And this was a parson! + +"Where are her parents?" the doctor asked, looking at Jim and Toby. + +"She ain't got no parents 'cept Toby an' me," replied Jim. "We've took +care of her ever since she was a baby." + +"Oh, I see," said the doctor. "Well, one of you'd better stay here until +she can be moved." + +"That's the trouble; we can't," said Toby, hanging his head. "You see, +sir, circus folks is like soldiers. No matter what happens, the show has +to go on, and we got to be in our places." + +"Well, well, she'll be safe enough, here," said the doctor. "It is a +fortunate thing that Mr. Douglas can manage this. Our town hospital +burned down a few months ago, and we've been rather puzzled as to what +to do with such cases." He took his leave with a cheery "Good night," +and a promise to look in upon the little patient later. Jim shuffled +awkwardly toward the pastor. + +"It's mighty good of you to do this," he mumbled, "but she ain't goin' +to be no charity patient. Me and Toby is goin' to look after her keep." + +"Her wants will be very few," Douglas answered, kindly. "You needn't +trouble much about that." + +"I mean it," said Jim, savagely. He met Douglas's glance of surprise +with a determined look, for he feared that his chance of being useful to +Polly might be slipping out of his life. + +"You mustn't mind Jim," the clown pleaded at the pastor's elbow. "You +see pain gets some folks different from others; and it always kinder +makes him savage." + +"Oh, that's all right," Douglas answered, quickly. His own life had +been so lonely, that he could understand the selfish yearning in the big +man's heart. "You must do what you think best about these things; Mandy +and I will look after the rest." + +Jim hung his head, feeling somehow that the pastor had seen straight +into his heart and discovered his petty weakness. He was about to turn +toward the door when it was thrown open by Barker. + +"Where is she?" shouted the manager, looking from one to the other. + +"She can't come," said Jim in a low, steady voice, for he knew the storm +of opposition with which Barker would meet the announcement. + +"Can't come?" shrieked Barker. "Of course she'll come. I can't get along +without her. She's GOT to come." He looked at Jim, who remained silent +and firm. "WHY ain't she comin'?" he asked, feeling himself already +defeated. + +"She's hurt bad," was Jim's laconic reply. + +"The devil she is!" said Barker, looking at Douglas for confirmation. +"Is that right?" + +"She won't be able to travel for some time," said Douglas. + +"Mr. Barker is our manager," Toby explained, as he edged his way to the +pastor's side. + +"Some time!" Barker looked at Douglas as though he were to blame for +their misfortune. "Well, you just bet she will," he declared menacingly. + +"See here, Barker, don't you talk to him like that," said Jim, facing +the manager. "He's darned square even if he is a parson." Barker turned +away. He was not a bad-hearted man, but he was irritated and upset at +losing the star feature of his bill. + +"Ain't this my dod-gasted luck?" he muttered to himself, as his eye +again travelled to the boss canvas-man. "You get out a' here, Jim," he +shouted, "an' start them wagons. The show's got to go on, Poll or no +Poll." + +He turned with his hand on the door-knob and jerked out a grudging +thanks to the pastor. "It's all fired good of you to take her in," he +said, "but it's tough to lose her. Good night!" He banged the door and +clattered down the steps. + +Jim waited. He was trying to find words in which to tell his gratitude. +None came; and he turned to go with a short "good-bye!" + +"Good night, Jim," said the pastor. He crossed the room and took the big +fellow's hand. + +"Much obliged," Jim answered gruffly. It was his only polite phrase, and +he had taught Polly to say it. Douglas waited until Jim had passed down +the steps, then turned to Toby, who still lingered near the table. + +"You'll tell her how it was, me and Jim had to leave her without sayin' +'good-bye,' won't you, sir?" Toby pleaded. + +"Yes, indeed," Douglas promised. + +"I'll jes' put this little bit o' money into her satchel." He picked up +the little brown bag that was to have been Polly's birthday gift. "Me +an' Jim will be sendin' her more soon." + +"You're going to miss her, I'm afraid," Douglas said, feeling an +irresistible desire to gain the old man's confidence. + +"Lord bless you, yes, sir," Toby answered, turning upon him eagerly. +"Me an' Jim has been father an' mother and jes' about everythin' to that +little one. She wan't much bigger'n a handful of peanuts when we begun +a-worryin' about her." + +"Well, Mandy will do the worrying now," Douglas laughed. "She's been +dying for a chance to mother somebody all along. Why, she even tried it +on me." + +"I noticed as how some of those church people seemed to look kinder +queer at me," said Toby, "and I been a-wonderin' if mebbe they might +feel the same about her." + +"Oh, they're all right," Douglas assured him; "they'll be her friends in +no time." + +"She's fit for 'em, sir," Toby pleaded. "She's good, clean into the +middle of her heart." + +"I'm sure of it," Douglas answered. + +"I've heard how some church folks feels towards us circus people, sir, +and I jes' wanted ye to know that there ain't finer families, or better +mothers or fathers or grandfathers or grandmothers anywhere than we got +among us. Why, that girl's mother rode the horses afore her, and her +mother afore that, and her grandmother and grandfather afore that, +an' there ain't nobody what's cared more for their good name and their +children's good name an' her people has. You see, sir, circus folks +is all like that; they's jes' like one big family; they tends to their +business and takes good care o' theirselves--they has to--or they +couldn't do their work. It's 'cause I'm leavin' her with you that I'm +sayin' all this," the old man apologised. + +"I'm glad you told me, Toby," Douglas answered, kindly. "I've never +known much about circus folks." + +"I guess I'd better be goin'," Toby faltered, as his eyes roved hungrily +toward the stairway. + +"I'll send you our route, and mebbe you'll be lettin' us know how she +is." + +"Indeed I will," Douglas assured him, heartily. + +"You might tell her we'll write ever' day or so," he added. + +"I'll tell her," Douglas promised earnestly. + +"Good night!" The old man hesitated, unwilling to go, but unable to find +further pretext for staying. + +"Good night, Toby." Douglas extended his hand toward the bent figure +that was about to shuffle past him. The withered hand of the white-faced +clown rested in the strong grasp of the pastor, and his pale, little +eyes sought the face of the stalwart man before him; a numb desolation +was growing in his heart; the object for which he had gone on day by day +was being left behind and he must stumble forth into the night alone. + +"It's hard to leave her," he mumbled; "but the show has got to go on." + +The door shut out the bent, old figure. Douglas stood for some time +where Toby had left him, still thinking of his prophetic words. His +revery was broken by the sounds of the departing wagons, the low +muttered curses of the drivers, the shrieking and roaring of the +animals, as the circus train moved up the distant hill. "The show has +got to go on," he repeated as he crossed to his study table and seated +himself for work in the dim light of the old-fashioned lamp. He put out +one hand to draw the sheets of his interrupted sermon toward him, but +instead it fell upon a small sailor hat. He twisted the hat absently in +his fingers, not yet realising the new order of things that was coming +into his life. Mandy tiptoed softly down the stairs. She placed one +pudgy forefinger on her lips, and rolled her large eyes skyward. "Dat +sure am an angel chile straight from Hebben," she whispered. "She done +got a face jes' like a little flower." + +"Straight from heaven," Douglas repeated, as she crossed softly to the +table and picked up the satchel and coat. + +"You can leave the lamp, Mandy--I must finish to-morrow's sermon." + +She turned at the threshold and shook her head rather sadly as she saw +the imprint of the day's cares on the young pastor's face. + +"Yo' mus' be pow'ful tired," she said. + +"No, no; not at all. Good night, Mandy!" + +She closed the door behind her, and Douglas was alone. He gazed absently +at the pages of his unfinished sermon as he tapped his idle pen on the +desk. "The show has got to go on," he repeated, and far up the hillside +with the slow-moving wagons, Jim and Toby looked with unseeing eyes into +the dim, star-lit distance, and echoed the thought: "The show has got to +go on." + + + +Chapter V + +THE church bells were ringing their first warning for the morning +service when Mandy peeped into the spare bedroom for the second time, +and glanced cautiously at the wisp of hair that bespoke a feminine +head somewhere between the covers and the little white pillow on the +four-poster bed. There was no sound from the sleeper, so Mandy ventured +across the room on tiptoe and raised the shades. The drooping boughs of +Autumn foliage lay shimmering against the window panes, and through them +might be seen the grey outline of the church. Mandy glanced again toward +the bed to make sure that the burst of sunlight had not wakened +the invalid, then crossed to a small, rickety chair, laden with the +discarded finery of the little circus rider. + +"Lawdy sakes!" she cried, holding up a spangled dress, admiringly. +"Ain't dat beautiful!" She drew near the mirror, attempting to see the +reflection of the tinsel and chiffon against her very ample background +of gingham and avoirdupois. "You'd sure be a swell nigger wid dat on, +Honey," she chuckled to herself. "Wouldn't dem deacons holler if dey +done see dat?" + +The picture of the deacons' astonishment at such a spectacle so grew +upon Mandy, that she was obliged to cover her generous mouth to shut in +her convulsive laughter, lest it awaken the little girl in the bed. +She crossed to the old-fashioned bureau which for many months had stood +unused against the wall. The drawer creaked as she opened it to lay away +the gay, spangled gown. + +"It'll be a mighty long time afore she puts on dem tings agin," she +said, with a doubtful shake of her large, round head. + +Then she went back to the chair and picked up Polly's sandals, and +examined the bead-work with a great deal of interest. "Lawdy, lawdy!" +she cried, as she compared the size of the sandals to that of her +own rough, worn shoes. She was again upon the point of exploding with +laughter, as the church bell added a few, final and more emphatic clangs +to its warning. + +She turned with a start, motioning a vain warning out of the window +for the bell to be silent, but the little sleeper was already stirring +uneasily on her pillow. One soft arm was thrown languidly over her head. +The large, blue eyes opened and closed dreamily as she murmured the +words of the clown song that Jim and Toby had taught her years ago: + + "Ting ling, + That's what the bells sing----" + +Mandy reached the side of the bed as the girl's eyes opened a second +time and met hers with a blank stare of astonishment. A tiny frown came +into the small, white forehead. + +"What's the matter?" she asked faintly, trying to find something +familiar in the black face before her. + +"Hush, child, hush," Mandy whispered; "jes' you lie puffickly still. +Dat's only de furs' bell a-ringin'." + +"First bell?" the girl repeated, as her eyes travelled quickly about the +strange walls and the unfamiliar fittings of the room. "This ain't the +show!" she cried, suddenly. + +"Lor' bless you, no; dis ain't no show," Mandy answered; and she laughed +reassuringly. + +"Then where am I?" Polly asked, half breathless with bewilderment. + +"Nebber you mind 'bout dat," was Mandy's unsatisfactory reply. + +"But I DO mind," protested Polly, trying to raise herself to a sitting +position. "Where's the bunch?" + +"De wat?" asked Mandy in surprise. + +"The bunch--Jim and Toby and the rest of the push!" + +"Lor' bless you!" Mandy exclaimed. "Dey's done gone 'long wid de circus, +hours ago." + +"Gone! Show gone!" Polly cried in amazement. "Then what am I doing +here?" + +"Hole on dar, honey! hole on!" Mandy cautioned. "Don't you 'cite +yo'se'f." + +"Let me alone!" Polly put aside the arm that was trying to place a shawl +around her. "I got to get out a-here." + +"You'se got plenty o' time for dat," Mandy answered, "yes' yo' wait +awhile." + +"I can't wait, and I won't!" Polly shrieked, almost beside herself with +anxiety. "I got to get to the next burg--Wakefield, ain't it? What time +is it? Let me alone! Let me go!" she cried, struggling desperately. + +The door opened softly and the young pastor stood looking down at the +picture of the frail, white-faced child, and her black, determined +captor. + +"Here, here! What's all this about?" he asked, in a firm tone, though +evidently amused. + +"Who are you?" returned the girl, as she shoved herself quickly back +against the pillows and drew the covers close under her chin, looking at +him oddly over their top. + +"She done been cuttin' up somefin' awful," Mandy explained, as she tried +to regain enough breath for a new encounter. + +"Cutting up? You surprise me, Miss Polly," he said, with mock +seriousness. + +"How do you know I'm Polly?" the little rebel asked, her eyes gleaming +large and desperate above the friendly covers. + +"If you will be VERY good and keep very quiet, I will try to tell you," +he said, as he crossed to the bed. + +"I won't be quiet, not for nobody," Polly objected, with a bold +disregard of double negatives. "I got to get a move. If you ain't goin' +to help me, you needn't butt in." + +"I am afraid I can't help you to go just yet," Douglas replied. He was +beginning to perceive that there were tasks before him other than the +shaping of Polly's character. + +"What are you trying to do to me, anyhow?" she asked, as she shot a +glance of suspicion from the pastor to Mandy. "What am I up against?" + +"Don't yuh be scared, honey," Mandy reassured her. "You's jes' as safe +here as you done been in de circus." + +"Safer, we hope," Douglas added, with a smile. + +"Are you two bug?" Polly questioned, as she turned her head from one +side to the other and studied them with a new idea. "Well, you can't get +none the best of me. I can get away all right, and I will, too." + +She made a desperate effort to put one foot to the floor, but fell back +with a cry of pain. + +"Dar, dar," Mandy murmured, putting the pillow under the poor, cramped +neck, and smoothing the tangled hair from Polly's forehead. "Yuh done +hurt yo'sef for suah dis time." + +The pastor had taken a step toward the bed. His look of amusement had +changed to one of pity. + +"You see, Miss Polly, you have had a very bad fall, and you can't get +away just yet, nor see your friends until you are better." + +"It's only a scratch," Polly whimpered. "I can do my work; I got +to." One more feeble effort and she succumbed, with a faint "Jimminy +Crickets!" + +"Uncle Toby told me that you were a very good little girl," Douglas +said, as he drew up a chair and sat down by her side, confident by the +expression on her face that at last he was master of the situation. "Do +you think he would like you to behave like this?" + +"I sure am on the blink," she sighed, as she settled back wearily upon +the pillow. + +"You'll be all right soon," Douglas answered, cheerily. "Mandy and I +will help the time to go." + +"I recollect now," Polly faltered, without hearing him. "It was the last +hoop. Jim seemed to have a hunch I was goin' to be in for trouble when +I went into the ring. Bingo must a felt it, too. He kept a-pullin' and +a-jerkin' from the start. I got myself together to make the last jump +an'--I can't remember no more." Her head drooped and her eyes closed. + +"I wouldn't try just now if I were you," Douglas answered tenderly. + +"It's my WHEEL, ain't it?" Polly questioned, after a pause. + +"Yoah what, chile?" Mandy exclaimed, as she turned from the table, where +she had been rolling up the unused bandages left from the doctor's call +the night before. + +"I say it's my creeper, my paddle," Polly explained, trying to locate +a few of her many pains. "Gee, but that hurts!" She tried to bend her +ankle. "Is it punctured?" + +"Only sprained," Douglas answered, striving to control his amusement at +the expression on Mandy's puzzled face. "Better not talk any more about +it." + +"Ain't anything the matter with my tongue, is there?" she asked, turning +her head to one side and studying him quizzically. + +"I don't think there is," he replied good-naturedly. + +"How did I come to fall in here, anyhow?" she asked, as she studied the +walls of the unfamiliar room. + +"We brought you here." + +"It's a swell place," she conceded grudgingly. + +"We are comfortable," he admitted, as a tell-tale smile again hovered +about his lips. He was thinking of the changes that he must presently +make in Miss Polly's vocabulary. + +"Is this the 'big top?' she asked. + +"The--what?" he stammered. + +"The main tent," she explained. + +"Well, no; not exactly. It's going to be your room now, Miss Polly." + +"My room! Gee! Think a' that!" she gasped, as the possibility of her +actually having a room all of her own took hold of her mind. "Much +obliged," she said with a nod, feeling that something was expected of +her. She knew no other phrase of gratitude than the one "Muvver" Jim and +Toby had taught her to say to the manager when she received from him the +first stick of red and white striped candy. + +"You're very welcome," Douglas answered with a ring of genuine feeling +in his voice. + +"Awful quiet, ain't it?" she ventured, after a pause. "Guess that's what +woke me up." + +Douglas laughed good-naturedly at the thought of quiet as a disturber, +and added that he feared it might at first be rather dull for her, but +that Jim and Toby would send her news of the circus, and that she could +write to them as soon as she was better. + +"I'll have to be a heap better 'an I ever was 'fore I can write much," +Polly drawled, with a whimsical little smile. + +"I will write for you," the pastor volunteered, understanding her +plight. + +"You will?" For the first time he saw a show of real pleasure in her +eyes. + +"Every day," Douglas promised solemnly. + +"And you will show me how?" + +"Indeed I will." + +"How long am I in for?" she asked. + +"The doctor can tell better about that when he comes." + +"The doctor! So--it's as bad as that, eh?" + +"Oh, that need not frighten you," Douglas answered consolingly. + +"I ain't frightened," she bridled quickly; "I ain't never scared of +nothin.' It's only 'cause they need me in the show that I'm a-kickin'." + +"Oh, they will get along all right," he said reassuringly. + +"Get along?" Polly flashed with sudden resentment. "Get along WITHOUT +MY ACT!" It was apparent from her look of astonishment that Douglas had +completely lost whatever ground he had heretofore gained in her respect. +"Say, have you seen that show?" She waited for his answer with pity and +contempt. + +"No," admitted John, weakly. + +"Well I should say you ain't, or you wouldn't make no crack like +that. I'm the whole thing in that push," she said with an air of +self-complacency; "and with me down and out, that show will be on the +bum for fair." + +"I beg your pardon," was all Douglas could say, confused by the sudden +volley of unfamiliar words. + +"You're kiddin' me," she said, turning her head to one side as was her +wont when assailed by suspicion; "you MUST a seen me ride?" + +"No, Miss Polly, I have never seen a circus," Douglas told her +half-regretfully, a sense of his deep privation stealing upon him. + +"What!" cried Polly, incredulously. + +"Lordy no, chile; he ain't nebber seed none ob dem tings," Mandy +interrupted, as she tried to arrange a few short-stemmed posies in a +variegated bouquet. + +"Well, what do you think of that!" Polly gasped. "You're the first rube +I ever saw that hadn't." She was looking at him as though he were a +curiosity. + +"So I'm a rube!" Douglas shook his head with a sad, little smile and +good-naturedly agreed that he had sometimes feared as much. + +"That's what we always calls a guy like you," she explained ingenuously, +and added hopefully: "Well, you MUST a' seen our parade--all the pikers +see that--IT don't cost nothin'." + +"I'm afraid I must also plead guilty to the charge of being a piker," +Douglas admitted half-sheepishly, "for I did see the parade." + +"Well, I was the one on the white horse right behind the lion cage," she +began excitedly. "You remember?" + +"It's a little confused in my mind--" he caught her look of amazement, +"just AT PRESENT," he stammered, feeling her wrath again about to +descend upon him. + +"Well, I'm the twenty-four sheet stand," she explained. + +"Sheet!" Mandy shrieked from her corner. + +"Yes--the billboards--the pictures," Polly said, growing impatient at +their persistent stupidity. + +"She sure am a funny talkin' thing!" mumbled Mandy to herself, as she +clipped the withered leaves from a plant near the window. + +"You are dead sure they know I ain't comin' on?" Polly asked with a +lingering suspicion in her voice. + +"Dead sure"; and Douglas smiled to himself as he lapsed into her +vernacular. + +There was a moment's pause. Polly realised for the first time that she +must actually readjust herself to a new order of things. Her eyes +again roved about the room. It was a cheerful place in which to be +imprisoned--even Polly could not deny that. The broad window at the back +with its white and pink chintz curtains on the inside, and its frame of +ivy on the outside, spoke of singing birds and sunshine all day long. +Everything from the white ceiling to the sweet-smelling matting that +covered the floor was spotlessly clean; the cane-bottomed rocker near +the curved window-seat with its pretty pillows told of days when +a convalescent might look in comfort at the garden beneath; the +counterpane, with its old-fashioned rose pattern, the little white +tidies on the back of each chair, and Mandy crooning beside the window, +all helped to make a homelike picture. + +She wondered what Jim and Toby would say if they could see her now, +sitting like a queen in the midst of her soft coverlets, with no need to +raise even a finger to wait upon herself. + +"Ain't it the limit?" she sighed, and with that Jim and Toby seemed to +drift farther away. She began to see their life apart from hers. She +could picture Jim with his head in his hands. She could hear his sharp +orders to the men. He was always short with the others when anything +went wrong with her. + +"I'll bet 'Muvver Jim's' in the dumps," she murmured, as a cloud stole +across the flower-like face; then the tired muscles relaxed, and she +ceased to rebel. + +"Muvver Jim"? Douglas repeated, feeling that he must recall her to a +knowledge of his presence. + +"That's what I calls him," Polly explained, "but the fellows calls him +'Big Jim.' You might not think Jim could be a good mother just to look +at him, but he is; only, sometimes, you can't tell him things you could +a real mother," she added, half sadly. + +"And your real mother went away when you were very young?" + +"No, she didn't go AWAY----" + +"No?" There was a puzzled note in the pastor's voice. + +"She went out," Polly corrected. + +"Out!" he echoed blankly. + +"Yes--finished--Lights out." + +"Oh, an accident." Douglas understood at last. + +"I don't like to talk about it." Polly raised herself on her elbow and +looked at him solemnly, as though about to impart a bit of forbidden +family history. It was this look in the round eyes that had made Jim so +often declare that the kid knew everything. + +"Why mother'd a been ashamed if she'd a knowed how she wound up. She +was the best rider of her time, everybody says so, but she cashed in by +fallin' off a skate what didn't have no more ginger 'an a kitten. If you +can beat that?" She gazed at him with her lips pressed tightly together, +evidently expecting some startling expression of wonder. + +"And your father?" Douglas asked rather lamely, being at a loss for +any adequate comment upon a tragedy which the child before him was too +desolate even to understand. + +"Oh, DAD'S finish was all right. He got his'n in a lion's cage where +he worked. There was nothing slow about his end." She looked up for his +approval. + +"For de Lord's sake!" Mandy groaned as the wonder of the child's +conversation grew upon her. + +"And now I'm down and out," Polly concluded with a sigh. + +"But THIS is nothing serious," said the pastor, trying to cheer her. + +"It's serious ENOUGH, with a whole show a'-dependin' on you. Maybe you +don't know how it feels to have to knock off work." + +"Oh, yes, I do," Douglas answered quickly. "I was ill a while ago +myself. I had to be in bed day after day, thinking of dozens of things +that I ought to be doing." + +"Was you ever floored?" Polly asked with a touch of unbelief as she +studied the fine, healthy physique at the side of her bed. + +"'Deed he was, chile," Mandy cried, feeling that her opportunity had +now arrived; "an' I had the wors' time a-keepin' him in bed. He act jes' +like you did." + +"Did he?" Polly was delighted to find that the pastor had "nothin' on +her," as she would have put it. + +"You ought to have heard him," continued Mandy, made eloquent by Polly's +show of interest. "'What will dose poor folks do?' he kept a-sayin'. +'yes' yo' lie where yo' is,' I tole him. 'Dem poor folks will be better +off dan dey would be a-comin' to yoah funeral.'" + +"Poor folks?" Polly questioned. "Do you give money to folks? We are +always itchin' to get it AWAY from 'em." + +Before Douglas could think of words with which to defend his disapproved +methods, Mandy had continued eagerly: + +"An' den on Sunday, when he can't go to church and preach--" She got +no further. A sharp exclamation brought both Mandy and Douglas to +attention. + +"Preach!" Polly almost shouted. She looked at him with genuine alarm +this time. + +"That will do, Mandy," Douglas commanded, feeling an unwelcome drama +gathering about his head. + +"Great Barnum and Bailey!" Polly exclaimed, looking at him as though he +were the very last thing in the world she had ever expected to see. "Are +you a skypilot?" + +"That's what he am, chile." Mandy slipped the words in slyly, for she +knew that they were against the pastor's wishes, but she was unable +to restrain her mischievous impulse to sow the seeds of curiosity that +would soon bear fruit in the inquisitive mind of the little invalid. + +"Will you get onto me a-landin' into a mix-up like this?" She continued +to study the uncomfortable man at her side. "I never thought I'd be +a-talkin' to one of you guys. What's your name?" + +"Douglas." He spoke shortly. + +"Ain't you got no handle to it?" + +"If you mean my Christian name, it's John." + +"Well, that sounds like a skypilot, all right. But you don't look like I +s'posed they did." + +"Why not?" + +"I always s'posed skypilots was old and grouchy-like. You're a'most as +good lookin' as our strong man." + +"I done tole him he was too good-lookin' to be an unmarried parson," +Mandy chuckled, more and more amused at the pastor's discomfort. + +"Looks don't play a very important part in my work," Douglas answered +curtly. Mandy's confidential snickers made him doubly anxious to get to +a less personal topic. + +"Well, they count for a whole lot with us." She nodded her head +decidedly. "How long you been showin' in this town, anyhow?" + +"About a year," Douglas answered, with something of a sigh. + +"A year!" she gasped. "In a burg like this? You must have an awful lot +of laughs in your act to keep 'em a-comin' that long." She was wise in +the ways of professional success. + +"Not many, I'm afraid." He wondered, for the first time, if this might +be the reason for his rather indifferent success. + +"Do you give them the same stuff, or have you got a rep?" + +"A rep?" he repeated in surprise. + +"Sure, repertory--different acts--entries, some calls 'em. Uncle Toby's +got twenty-seven entries. It makes a heap of difference in the big towns +where you have a run." + +"Oh, I understand," Douglas answered in a tone of relief. "Well, I try +to say something new each Sunday." + +"What kind of spiels do you give 'em?" she inquired with growing +interest. + +"I try to help my people to get on better terms with themselves and to +forget their week-day troubles." He had never had occasion to define his +efforts so minutely. + +"Well, that's jes' the same as us," Polly told him with an air of +condescension; "only circuses draws more people 'an churches." + +"YOURS does seem to be a more popular form of entertainment," Douglas +answered drily. He was beginning to feel that there were many tricks in +the entertainment trade which he had not mastered. And, after all, what +was his preaching but an effort at entertainment? If he failed to hold +his congregation by what he was saying, his listeners grew drowsy, +and his sermon fell short of its desired effect. It was true that +his position and hers had points of similarity. She was apparently +successful; as for himself, he could not be sure. He knew he tried very +hard and that sometimes a tired mother or a sad-faced child looked up at +him with a smile that made the service seem worth while. + +Polly mistook the pastor's revery for envy, and her tender heart was +quick to find consolation for him. + +"You ain't got all the worst of it," she said. "If we tried to play a +dump like this for six months, we'd starve to death. You certainly must +give 'em a great show," she added, surveying him with growing interest. + +"It doesn't make much difference about the show--" Douglas began, but he +was quickly interrupted. + +"That's right, it's jes' the same with a circus. One year ye give 'em +the rottenest kind of a thing, and they eat it up; the next year you +hand 'em a knock-out, and it's a frost. Is that the way it is with a +church show?" + +"Much the same," Douglas admitted half-amusedly, half-regretfully. "Very +often when I work the hardest, I seem to do the least good." + +"I guess our troubles is pretty much alike." Polly nodded with a +motherly air of condescension. "Only there ain't so much danger in your +act." + +"I'm not so sure about that," he laughed. + +"Well, you take my tip," she leaned forward as though about to impart +a very valuable bit of information. "Don't you never go in for ridin'. +There ain't no act on earth so hard as a ridin' act. The rest of the +bunch has got it easy alongside of us. Take the fellows on the trapeze. +They always get their tackle up in jes' the same place. Take the +balancin' acts; there ain't no difference in their layouts. Take any of +'em as depends on regular props; and they ain't got much chance a-goin' +wrong. But say, when yer have ter do a ridin' act, there ain't never no +two times alike. If your horse is feelin' good, the ground is stumbly; +if the ground ain't on the blink the horse is wobbly. Ther's always +somethin' wrong somewheres, and yer ain't never knowin' how it's goin' +ter end--especially when you got to do a careful act like mine. There's +a girl, Eloise, in our bunch, what does a SHOWY act on a horse what +Barker calls Barbarian. She goes on in my place sometimes--and say, +them rubes applauds her as much as me, an' her stunts is baby tricks +alongside o' mine. It's enough to make you sick o' art." She shook her +head dolefully, then sat up with renewed interest. + +"You see, mine is careful balancin' an' all that, an' you got ter know +your horse an' your ground for that. Now you get wise ter what I'm +a-tellin' yer, and don't you NEVER go into ANYTHIN' what depends on +ANYTHIN' else." + +"Thank you, Polly, I won't." Douglas somehow felt that he was very much +indebted to her. + +"I seen a church show once," Polly said suddenly. + +"You did?" Douglas asked, with new interest. + +"Yes," she answered, closing her lips and venturing no further comment. + +"Did you like it?" he questioned, after a pause. + +"Couldn't make nothin' out of it--I don't care much for readin'." + +"Oh, it isn't ALL reading," he corrected. + +"Well, the guy I saw read all of his'n. He got the whole thing right out +of a book." + +"Oh, that was only his text," laughed Douglas. "Text?" + +"Yes. And later he tried to interpret to his congrega----" + +"Easy! Easy!" she interrupted; "come again with that, will you?" + +"He told them the meaning of what he read." "Well, I don't know what +he told 'em, but it didn't mean anythin' to me. But maybe your show is +better'n his was," she added, trying to pacify him. + +Douglas was undecided whether to feel amused or grateful for Polly's +ever-increasing sympathy. Before he could trust his twitching lips to +answer, she had put another question to him. + +"Are you goin' to do a stunt while I am here?" + +"I preach every Sunday, if that's what you mean; I preach this morning." + +"Is this Sunday?" she asked, sitting up with renewed energy and looking +about the room as though everything had changed colour. + +"Yes." + +"And YOU GOT A MATINEE?" she exclaimed, incredulously. + +"We have services," he corrected, gently. + +"WE rest up on SUNDAYS," she said in a tone of deep commiseration. + +"Oh, I see," he answered, feeling it no time to enter upon another +discussion as to the comparative advantages of their two professions. + +"What are you goin' ter spiel about to-day?" + +"About Ruth and Naomi." + +"Ruth and who?" + +"Naomi," he repeated. + +"Naomi," she echoed, tilting her head from side to side, as she listened +to the soft cadences of the word. "I never heard that name afore. It 'ud +look awful swell on a billboard, wouldn't it?" + +"It's a Bible name, honey," Mandy said, eager to get into the +conversation. "Dar's a balful picture 'bout her. I seed it." + +"I LIKE to look at PICTURES," Polly answered tentatively. Mandy crossed +the room to fetch the large Bible with its steel engravings. + +"We got a girl named Ruth in our 'Leap of Death' stunt. Some of the +folks is kinder down on 'er, but I ain't." + +She might have told Douglas more of her forlorn, little friend, but just +then Mandy came to the bed, hugging a large, old-fashioned Bible, and +Douglas helped to place the ponderous book before the invalid. + +"See, honey, dar dey is," the old woman said, pointing to the picture of +Ruth and Naomi. + +"Them's crackerjacks, ain't they?" Polly gasped, and her eyes shone with +wonder. "Which one 's Ruth?" + +"Dis one," said Mandy, pointing with her thumb. + +"Why, they're dressed just like our chariot drivers. What does it say +about 'em?" + +"You can read it for yourself," Douglas answered gently. There was +something pathetic in the eagerness of the starved little mind. + +"Well, I ain't much on readin'--OUT LOUD," she faltered, growing +suddenly conscious of her deficiencies. "Read it for me, will you?" + +"Certainly," and he drew his chair nearer to the bed. One strong hand +supported the other half of the Bible, and his head was very near to +hers as his deep, full voice pronounced the solemn words in which Ruth +pleaded so many years before. + +"'Entreat me not to leave thee,'" he read, "'or to return from following +after thee, for whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I +will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.'" + +He stopped to ponder over the poetry of the lines. + +"Kind o' pretty, ain't it?" Polly said softly. She felt awkward and +constrained and a little overawed. + +"There are far more beautiful things than that," Douglas assured her +enthusiastically, as the echo of many such rang in his ears. + +"There are?" And her eyes opened wide with wonder. + +"Yes, indeed," he replied, pitying more and more the starvation of mind +and longing to bring to it floods of light and enrichment. + +"I guess I'd LIKE to hear YOU spiel," and she fell to studying him +solemnly. + +"You would?" he asked eagerly. + +"Is there any more to that story?" she asked, ignoring his question. + +"Yes, indeed." + +"Would you read me a little more?" She was very humble now. + +"Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so +to me and more also, if ought but death part me and thee.'" + +Their eyes met. There was a long pause. Suddenly the sharp, sweet notes +of the church bell brought John Douglas to his feet with a start of +surprise. + +"Have you got to go?" Polly asked regretfully. + +"Yes, I must; but I'll read the rest from the church. Open the window, +Mandy!" And he passed out of the door and quickly down the stairs. + + + +Chapter VI + +WHEN John Douglas's uncle offered to educate his nephew for the +ministry, the boy was less enthusiastic than his mother. He did not +remonstrate, however, for it had been the custom of generations for at +least one son of each Douglas family to preach the gospel of Calvinism, +and his father's career as an architect and landscape gardener had not +left him much capital. + +Douglas, senior, had been recognised as an artist by the few who +understood his talents, but there is small demand for the builder of +picturesque houses in the little business towns of the Middle West, and +at last he passed away, leaving his son only the burden of his financial +failure and an ardent desire to succeed at the profession in which his +father had fared so badly. The hopeless, defeated look on the departed +man's face had always haunted the boy, who was artist enough to feel his +father's genius intuitively, and human enough to resent the injustice of +his fate. + +Douglas's mother had suffered so much because of the impractical efforts +of her husband, that she discouraged the early tendencies of the son +toward drawing and mathematics and tried to direct his thoughts toward +creeds and Bible history. When he went away for his collegiate course, +she was less in touch with him; and he was able to steal time from his +athletics to devote to his art. He spent his vacations in a neighbouring +city before a drawing board in the office of a distinguished architect, +his father's friend. + +Douglas was not a brilliant divinity student, and he was relieved when +at last he received his degree in theology and found himself appointed +to a small church in the Middle West. + +His step was very bright the morning he first went up the path that +led to his new home. His artistic sense was charmed by the picturesque +approach to the church and parsonage. The view toward the tree-encircled +spire was unobstructed, for the church had been built on the outskirts +of the town to allow for a growth that had not materialised. He threw +up his head and gazed at the blue hills, with their background of soft, +slow-moving clouds. The smell of the fresh earth, the bursting of the +buds, the forming of new life, set him thrilling with a joy that was +very near to pain. + +He stopped half way up the path and considered the advantages of a new +front to the narrow-eaved cottage, and when his foot touched the first +step of the vine-covered porch, he was far more concerned about a new +portico than with any thought of his first sermon. + +His speculations were abruptly cut short by Mandy, who bustled out +of the door with a wide smile of welcome on her black face, and an +unmistakable ambition to take him immediately under her motherly wing. +She was much concerned because the church people had not met the new +pastor at the station and brought him to the house. Upon learning that +Douglas had purposely avoided their escort, preferring to come to his +new home the first time alone, she made up her mind that she was going +to like him. + +Mandy had long been a fixture in the parsonage. She and her worse half, +Hasty Jones, had come to know and discuss the weaknesses of the many +clergymen who had come and gone, the deacons, and the congregation, both +individually and collectively. She confided to Hasty, that she "didn't +blame de new parson fer not wantin' to mix up wid dat ar crowd." + +In the study that night, when she and Hasty helped Douglas to unpack his +many boxes of books, they were as eager as children about the drawings +and pictures which he showed them. His mind had gone beyond the +parsonage front now, and he described to them the advantage of adding an +extra ten feet to the church spire. + +Mandy felt herself almost an artist when she and Hasty bade the pastor +good night, for she was still quivering from the contagion of Douglas's +enthusiasm. Here, at last, was a master who could do something besides +find fault with her. + +"I jest wan' to be on de groun' de firs' time dat Mars Douglas and dat +ere Deacon Strong clinches," she said to Hasty as they locked the +doors and turned out the hall light. "Did yuh done see his jaw?" she +whispered. "He look laughin' enough NOW, but jes' yuh wait till he done +set dat'ere jaw a his'n and afar ain't nobody what's goin' ter unsot +it." + +"Maybe dar ain't goin' ter be no clinchin'," said Hasty, hoping for +Mandy's assurance to the contrary. + +"What?" shrieked Mandy. "Wid dat 'ere sneakin' Widow Willoughby already +a-tellin' de deacons how to start de new parson a-goin' proper?" + +"Now, why you's always a-pickin' onto dat 'ere widow?" asked Hasty, +already enjoying the explosion which he knew his defence of the widow +was sure to excite. + +"I don' like no woman what's allus braggin' 'bout her clean floors," +answered Mandy, shortly. She turned out the last light, and tiptoed +upstairs, trying not to disturb the pastor. + +John Douglas was busy already with pencil and paper, making notes of +the plans for the church and parsonage, which he would perfect later +on. Alas, for Douglas's day dreams! It was not many weeks before he +understood with a heavy heart that the deacons were far too dull and +uninspired to share his faith in beauty as an aid to man's spiritual +uplift. + +"We think we've done pretty well by this church," said Deacon Strong, +who was the business head, the political boss, and the moral mentor +of the small town's affairs. "Just you worry along with the preachin', +young man, and we'll attend to the buyin' and buildin' operations." + +Douglas's mind was too active to content itself wholly with the writing +of sermons and the routine of formal, pastoral calls. He was a keen +humanitarian, so little by little, he came to be interested in the heart +stories and disappointments of many of the village unfortunates, some of +whom were outside his congregation. The mentally sick, the despondent, +who needed words of hope and courage more than dry talks on theology, +found in him an ever ready friend and adviser, and these came to love +and depend on him. But he was never popular with the creed-bound element +of the church. + +Mandy had her wish about being on the spot the first time that the +parson's jaw squared itself at Deacon Strong. The deacon had called +at the parsonage to demand that Douglas put a stop to the boys playing +baseball in the adjoining lot on Sunday. Douglas had been unable to see +the deacon's point of view. He declared that baseball was a healthy and +harmless form of exercise, that the air was meant to be breathed, and +that the boys who enjoyed the game on Sunday were principally those who +were kept indoors by work on other days. The close of the interview was +unsatisfactory both to Douglas and the deacon. + +"Dey kinder made me cold an' prickly all up an' down de back," Mandy +said later, when she described their talk to Hasty. "Dat 'ere deacon +don' know nuffin' 'bout gittin' 'roun' de parson." She tossed her head +with a feeling of superiority. She knew the way. Make him forget himself +with a laugh. Excite his sympathy with some village underdog. + + + +Chapter VII + +MANDY had secretly enjoyed the commotion caused by the little +circus-rider being left in the parsonage, at first, because of her +inborn love of mischief, and later, because Polly had become second in +her heart only to the pastor. She went about her work, crooning softly +during the days of Polly's convalescence. The deep, steady voice of +the pastor reading aloud in the pretty window overhead was company. She +would often climb the stairs to tell them some bit of village gossip, +and leave them laughing at a quaint comment about some inquisitive +sister of the church, who had happened to incur her displeasure. + +As spring came on, Douglas carried Polly down to the sun-lit garden +beneath the window; and Mandy fluttered about arranging the cushions +with motherly solicitude. + +More days slipped by, and Polly began to creep through the little, +soft-leaved trees at the back of the church, and to look for the deep, +blue, sweet-scented violets. When she was able, Douglas took her with +him to visit some of the outlying houses of the poor. Her woman's +instinct was quick to perceive many small needs in their lives that he +had overlooked, and to suggest simple, inexpensive joys that made them +her devoted friends. + +Their evenings were divided between making plans for these unfortunates +and reading aloud from the Bible or other books. + +When Polly gained courage, Douglas sometimes persuaded her to read to +him--and the little corrections that he made at these times soon became +noticeable in her manner of speech. She was so eager, so starved for +knowledge, that she drank it as fast as he could give it. It was during +their talks about grammar that Mandy generally fell asleep in her +rocker, her unfinished sewing still in her lap. + +When a letter came from Jim and Toby, it was always shared equally by +Mandy and Hasty, Polly and the pastor. But at last a letter came from +Jim only, and Douglas, who was asked to read it, faltered and stopped +after the first few words. + +"It's no use my tryin' to keep it from you any longer, Poll," the letter +began, "we ain't got Toby with us no more. He didn't have no accident, +it wasn't that. He just seemed kinder sick and ailin' like, ever since +the night we had to leave you behind. I used to get him warm drinks and +things, and try to pull 'im through, but he was always a-chillin' and +a-achin'. If it wasn't one thing the matter, it was another. I done +all I knowed you'd a-wanted me to, an' the rest of the folks was mighty +white to him, too. I guess they kinder felt how lonesome he was. He +couldn't get no more laughs in the show, so Barker had to put on another +man with him. That kinder hurt him too--I s'pose--an' showed him the +way that things was a-goin'. It was just after that, he wrote the parson +a-tellin' him to never let you come back. He seemed to a' got an idee in +his head that you was happier where you was. He wouldn't let me tell ye +'bout his feelin' so rocky, 'cause he thought it might mebbe make you +come back. 'She's diff'runt from us,' he was allus a-sayin'. 'I never +'spected to keep 'er.'" + +Douglas stopped. Polly was waiting, her face white and drawn. He had not +told her of Toby's letter, because with it had come a request to "say +nothin' to the kid." + +He felt that Polly was controlling herself with an effort until he +should reach the end of Jim's letter, so he hurried on. + +"The parson's promise didn't get to him none too quick," he read. "That +seemed to be what he was waitin' for. He give up the night it come, and +I got him a little room in a hotel after the show, and let one of the +other fellers get the stuff out o' town, so's I could stay with him up +to the finish. It come 'round mornin'. There wasn't much to it--he just +seemed tired and peaceful like. 'I'm glad he wrote what he did,' he +said, meanin' the parson. 'She knows, she allus knows,' he whispered, +meanin' you, Poll, and then he was on his way. He'd already give me what +was saved up for you, and I'm sendin' it along with this--" A blue money +order for two hundred and fifty dollars had fluttered from the envelope +when Douglas opened it. + +"I got everythin' ready afore I went on the next day, an' I went up and +saw the little spot on the hill where they was goin' to stow him. It +looked kinder nice and the digger's wife said she'd put some flowers on +to it now and then. It was YOU what made me think o' that, Poll, 'cause +it seemed to me what you would a' done; you was always so daffy about +flowers, you and him. + +"I guess this letter's too long for me to be a-sayin' much about the +show, but the 'Leap-a-Death' girl got hern last week. She wasn't strong +enough for the job, nohow. I done what I could for her outside the show, +'cause I knowed how you was always a-feelin' 'bout her. I guess the +'Leap-a-Death's' husband is goin' to jump his job soon, if he gets +enough saved up, 'cause him and Barker can't hit it off no more. We got +a good deal o' trouble among the animals, too. None o' the snakes is +sheddin' like they ought to, and Jumbo's a-carryin' a sixteen foot +bandage around that trunk a' hisn, 'cause he got too fresh with Trixy's +grub the other night, and the new giraffe's got the croup in that +seven-foot neck o' his'n. I guess you'll think I got the pip for fair +this time, so I'll just get onto myself now and cut this short. I'll be +writin' you agin when we hit Morgantown. + +"Your old Muvver Jim." + + +Douglas laid the letter gently on the table, his hand still resting upon +it. He looked helplessly at the little, shrunken figure in the opposite +chair. Polly had made no sound, but her head had slipped lower and lower +and she now sat very quietly with her face in her hands. She had been +taught by Toby and Jim never to whimper. + +"What a plucky lot they are," thought Douglas, as he considered these +three lonely souls, each accepting whatever fate brought with no +rebellion or even surprise. It was a strange world of stoics in which +these children of the amusement arena fought and lost. They came and +went like phantoms, with as little consciousness of their own best +interests as of the great, moving powers of the world about them. They +felt no throes of envy, no bitterness. They loved and worked and "went +their way." + +For once the pastor was powerless in the presence of grief. Both he and +Mandy left the room quietly, feeling that Polly wished to be spared the +outburst of tears that a sympathetic word might bring upon her. They +allowed her to remain alone for a time, then Mandy entered softly with a +tender good night and Douglas followed her cheerily as though nothing at +all had happened. + +It was many weeks before Polly again became a companion to Douglas and +Mandy, but they did not intrude upon her grief. They waited patiently +for the time when youth should again assert itself, and bring back their +laughing mate to them. + + + +Chapter VIII + +When Polly understood that Toby was ACTUALLY GONE, it seemed to her +that she could never laugh again. She had been too young to realise the +inevitableness of death when it came to her mother, and now she could +scarcely believe that Toby would never, never come back to her. She felt +that she must be able to DRAG him back, that she could not go on without +him. She wanted to tell him how grateful she was for all his care of +her. She thought of the thousand little things that she might have done +for him. She longed to recall every impatient word to him. His gentle +reproachful eyes were always haunting her. "You must come back, Toby!" +she cried. "You must!" + +It was only when body and mind had worn themselves out with yearning, +that a numbness at last crept over her, and out of this grew a +gradual consciousness of things about her and a returning sense of her +obligation to others. She tried to answer in her old, smiling way and to +keep her mind upon what they were saying, instead of letting it wander +away to the past. + +Douglas and Mandy were overjoyed to see the colour creeping back to her +cheeks. + +She joined the pastor again in his visits to the poor. The women of +the town would often see them passing and would either whisper to +each other, shrug their shoulders, or lift their eyebrows with smiling +insinuations; but Polly and the pastor were too much absorbed in each +other to take much notice of what was going on about them. + +They had not gone for their walk to-day, because Mandy had needed Polly +to help make ready for the social to be held in the Sunday-school-room +to-night. + +Early in the afternoon, Polly had seen Douglas shut himself up in +the study, and she was sure that he was writing; so when the village +children stopped in on the way from school for Mandy's new-made cookies, +she used her customary trick to get them away. "Tag--you're it!" she +cried, and then dashed out the back door, pursued by the laughing, +screaming youngsters. Mandy followed the children to the porch and stood +looking after them, as the mad, little band scurried about the back +yard, darted in and out amongst the trees, then up the side of the +wooded hill, just beyond the church. + +The leaves once more were red and yellow on the trees, but to-day +the air was warm, and the children were wearing their summer dresses. +Polly's lithe, girlish figure looked almost tall by comparison with the +children about her. She wore a plain, simple gown of white, which Mandy +had helped her to make. It had been cut ankle-length, for Polly was now +seventeen. Her quaint, old-fashioned manner, her serious eyes, and her +trick of knotting her heavy, brown hair low on her neck, made her seem +older. + +Mandy waited until the children had disappeared over the hill, then +began bustling about looking for the step-ladder which Hasty had left +under the vines of the porch. It had been a busy day at the parsonage. A +social always meant perturbation for Mandy. She called sharply to Hasty, +as he came down the path which made a short cut to the village: + +"So's you'se back, is you?" she asked, sarcastically. + +"Sure, I'se back," answered Hasty, good-naturedly, as he sank upon an +empty box that had held some things for the social, and pretended to +wipe the perspiration from his forehead. + +"Masse John done send you to de post office two hours ago," said Mandy, +as she took the letters and papers from his hand. "Five minutes is +plenty ob time for any nigger to do dat job." + +"I done been detained," Hasty drawled. + +"You'se always 'tained when dar's any work a-goin' on," Mandy snapped at +him. + +"Whar's Miss Polly?" Hasty asked, ignoring Mandy's reference to work. + +"Nebber you mind 'bout Miss Polly. She don't want you. Jes' you done +fetch that step-ladder into de Sunday-school-room." + +"But I wants her," Hasty insisted. "I'se been on very 'ticular business +what she ought to know 'bout." + +"Business?" she repeated. "What kind ob business?" + +"I got to fix de Sunday-school-room," said Hasty, as he perceived her +growing curiosity. + +"You come heah, nigger!" Mandy called, determined that none of the +village doings should escape her. "Out wid it!" + +"Well, it's 'bout de circus," Hasty answered? seating himself again +on the box. "Dey's showin' in Wakefield to-night, and next month dey's +comin' here." + +"Dat same circus what Miss Polly used to be wid?" Mandy's eyes grew +large with curiosity. + +"De very same," and Hasty nodded mysteriously. + +"How you know dat?" Mandy was uncertain whether to believe him. + +"'Cause da's a big, red wagon downtown wid de name ob de show painted on +it. It's de advertisin' one what goes ahead wid all de pictures what dey +pastes up." + +"And you been hangin' 'roun' dat wagon?" + +"I done thought Miss Polly might want to know." + +"See here, lazy nigger, don' you go puttin' no circus notions into Miss +Polly's head. She don' care no more 'bout dem things since her Uncle +Toby done die. She done been satisfied right whar she am. Jes' you let +her be." + +"I ain't done nothin'," Hasty protested. + +"Nebber do do nothin'," growled Mandy. "Go long now, and get a-work. +Mos' four o'clock and dat Sunday-school-room ain't ready yet." + +Hasty picked up the empty box and the step-ladder and went out through +the gate. He had barely disappeared when a peal of laughter was heard +from the hillside, and before Mandy could get out of the way, the +youngsters came tumbling down the path again. + +"Lawsy, lawsy," she gasped, as Polly circled around her, dodging the +children. "You'se cheeks is red as pineys, honey." + +"Tag! you're it!" Polly cried, as she touched the widow's auburn-haired +offspring on the sleeve. There was much wailing when Willie passed the +tag to little Jennie, the smallest girl in the crowd. + +"I won't play no more," she sobbed; "'cause I's always it." + +To comfort her, Polly began to sing an old circus song that the children +had learned to love; and the little ones huddled about her in a circle +to hear of the wonderful "Van Amberg" who used to "walk right into the +lion's cage and put his head in the lion's mouth." The children were in +a state of nerves that did credit to Polly as an entertainer, when Hasty +broke in upon the song. + +"When you get a minute I want ter tell yer somethin'." + +"I have one right now." And turning to the eager mites at her side, +Polly told them to run along into the grove, and that she'd come pretty +soon to teach them a new game. + +The youngsters went screaming and laughing on their way, and she +breathed a sigh of relief as she threw herself down on the rustic seat +that encircled the elm tree. + +"What is it, Hasty?" she asked, suspecting that he was in trouble with +Mandy. + +"It's 'bout de circus," Hasty informed her bluntly. + +"The circus?" She rose and crossed to him quickly. + +"It's in Wakefield--en' nex' month it's a-comin' here." + +"Here?" Polly gasped. + +"I thought you'd want ter know," said Hasty, little surprised at her +lack of enthusiasm. + +"Yes, of course." She turned away and pretended to look at the flowers. + +"Don' yous tell Mandy I been talkin' 'bout dat circus," said Hasty, +uneasily. He was beginning to fear that he had made a mistake; but +before Polly could answer, Mandy came out of the house, carrying baskets +and food, which Hasty was to take to the Sunday-school-room. She looked +at the girl's troubled face and drooping shoulders in surprise. + +"What make you look so serious, Honey?" + +"Just thinking," said Polly absently. + +"My! Don' you look fine in your new dress!" She was anxious to draw the +girl out of her reverie. + +"Do you like it?" Polly asked eagerly, forgetting her depression of a +moment before. "Do you think Mr. John will like it?" + +"Masse John? Mercy me! He nebber takes no notice ob dem things. I done +got a bran', spankin' new allapaca, one time, an' do you think HE ebber +seed it? Lawsy, no! We might jes' well be goin' roun' like Mudder Eve +for all dat man know." Polly looked disappointed. "But udder folks +sees," Mandy continued, comfortingly, "an' you certainly look mighty +fine. Why, you's just as good now as you was afore you got hurled!" + +"Yes, I'm well now and able to work again." There was no enthusiasm in +her tone, for Hasty's news had made her realise how unwelcome the old +life would be to her. + +"Work! You does work all de time. My stars! de help you is to Massa +John." + +"Do you think so? Do I help him?--Do I?" + +"Of course you does. You tells him things to do in Sunday-school what +the chillun like, an' you learns him to laugh and 'joy himself, an' a +lot of things what nobody else could a-learned 'im." + +"You mustn't say 'learned him,'" Polly corrected; "you must say 'taught +him.' You can't 'learn' anybody anything. You can only 'teach' them." + +"Lordy sakes! I didn't know dat." She rolled her large eyes at her young +instructress, and saw that Polly looked very serious. "She's gwine ter +have anudder one a dem 'ticlar spells" thought Mandy, and she made ready +to protest. + +"See here, ain't you nebber----" + +She was interrupted by a quick "Have you never" from Polly. + +"It dun make no difference what you say," Mandy snapped, "so long as +folks understands you." She always grew restive under these ordeals; but +Polly's firm controlled manner generally conquered. + +"Oh, yes, it does," answered Polly. "I used to think it didn't; but +it does. You have to say things in a certain way or folks look down on +you." + +"I's satisfied de way I be," declared Mandy, as she plumped herself down +on the garden bench and began to fidget with resentment. + +"The way I am," Polly persisted, sweetly. + +"See here, chile, is day why you been a-settin' up nights an' keepin de +light burnin'?" + +"You mustn't say 'setting up;' you must say 'sitting up.' Hens set----" + +"So do I," interrupted Mandy; "I's doin' it NOW." For a time she +preserved an injured silence, then turned upon Polly vehemently. "If I +had to think ob all dat ere foolishness eber' time I open my mouth, I'd +done been tongue-tied afore I was born." + +"I could teach you in no time," volunteered Polly, eagerly. + +"I don't want to be teached," protested Mandy, doggedly. "Hast Jones +says I's too smart anyhow. Men don't like women knowin' too much--it +skeers 'em. I's good enough for my old man, and I ain't a-tryin' to get +nobody else's," Mandy wound up flatly. + +"But he'd like you all the better," persisted Polly, laughing. + +"I don' WANT to be liked no better by NO nigger," snapped Mandy. "I's a +busy woman, I is." She made for the house, then curiosity conquered her +and she came back to Polly's side. "See here, honey, whose been l'arnin' +you all dem nonsense?" + +"I learn from Mr. Douglas. I remember all the things he tells me, and at +night I write them down and say them over. Do you see this, Mandy?" She +took a small red book from her belt and put it into Mandy's black chubby +fists. + +"I see some writin', if dat's what you mean," Mandy answered, +helplessly. + +"These are my don'ts," Polly confided, as she pointed enthusiastically +to worn pages of finely written notes. + +"You'se WHAT, chile?" + +"The things I mustn't do or say." + +"An' you'se been losin' yoah beauty sleep for dem tings?" Mandy looked +incredulous. + +"I don't want Mr. John to feel ashamed of me," she said with growing +pride. + +"Well, you'd catch Mandy a-settin' up for----" + +"Oh, oh! What did I tell you, Mandy?" Polly pointed reproachfully to the +reminder in the little red book. It was a fortunate thing that Willie +interrupted the lesson at this point, for Mandy's temper was becoming +very uncertain. The children had grown weary waiting for Polly, and +Willie had been sent to fetch her. Polly offered to help Mandy with the +decorations, but Willie won the day, and she was running away hand in +hand with him when Douglas came out of the house. + +"Wait a minute!" he called. "My, how fine you look!" He turned Polly +about and surveyed the new gown admiringly. + +"He did see it! He did see it!" cried Polly, gleefully. + +"Of course I did. I always notice everything, don't I, Mandy?" + +"You suah am improvin' since Miss Polly come," Mandy grunted. + +"Come, Willie!" called the girl, and ran out laughing through the trees. + +"What's this?" Douglas took the small book from Mandy's awkward fingers, +and began to read: "'Hens set--'" He frowned. + +"Oh, dem's jes' Miss Polly's 'don'ts,'" interrupted Mandy, disgustedly. + +"Her 'don'ts'?" + +"She done been set--sit--settin' up nights tryin' to learn what you done +tole her," stuttered Mandy. + +"Dear little Polly," he murmured, then closed the book and put it into +his pocket. + + + +Chapter IX + +DOUGLAS was turning toward the house when the Widow Willoughby came +through the wicker gate to the left of the parsonage, carrying bunting +for the social. She was followed by Miss Perkins with a bucket of +pickles, which Mandy promptly placed on top of Mrs. Elverson's ice +cream. The women explained that they had come to put the finishing +touches to the decorations. If anything was needed to increase Mandy's +dislike of the widow, it was this announcement. + +Mrs. Willoughby was greatly worried because her children had not been +home since the afternoon school session. Upon learning that they were +with Polly, she plainly showed her displeasure; and Douglas dispatched +Mandy for them. She saw that her implied distrust of Polly had annoyed +him, and she was about to apologise, when two of the deacons arrived on +the scene, also carrying baskets and parcels for the social. + +Strong led the way. He always led the way and always told Elverson what +to think. They had been talking excitedly as they neared the parsonage, +for Strong disapproved of the recent changes which the pastor had made +in the church service. He and Douglas had clashed more than once since +the baseball argument, and the deacon had realised more and more that +he had met a will quite as strong as his own. His failure to bend the +parson to his way of thinking was making him irritable, and taking his +mind from his business. + +"Can you beat that!" he would exclaim as he turned away from some +disagreement with Douglas, his temper ruffled for the day. + +Polly was utterly unconscious of the unfriendly glances cast in her +direction as she came running into the garden, leading the widow's two +children. + +She nodded gaily to Julia Strong, who was coming through the gate, then +hurried to Mrs. Willoughby, begging that the children be allowed to +remain a little longer. She was making up a new game, she said, and +needed Willie and Jennie for the set. + +"My children do not play in promiscuous games," said the widow, icily. + +"Oh, but this isn't pro-pro-pro"--Polly stammered. "It's a new game. You +put two here, and two here, and----" + +"I don't care to know." The widow turned away, and pretended to talk to +Julia. + +"Oh!" gasped Polly, stunned by the widow's rebuff. + +She stood with bowed head in the centre of the circle. The blood flew +from her cheeks, then she turned to go. + +Douglas stepped quickly to her side. "Wait a minute," he said. She +paused, all eyes were turned upon them. "Is this a game that grown-ups +can play?" + +"Why, yes, of course." + +"Good! Then I'll make up your set. I need a little amusement just now. +Excuse me," he added, turning to the deacons. Then he ran with her out +through the trees. + +The deacons and the women stared at each other, aghast. + +"Well, what do you think of that?" said Mrs. Willoughby, as the flying +skirts of the girl and the black figure of the man disappeared up the +path. + +"I think it's scandalous, if you are talking to me," said Miss Perkins. +"The idea of a full-grown parson a-runnin' off to play children's games +with a circus ridin' girl!" + +"She isn't such a child," sneered Julia. + +"It's ENOUGH to make folks talk," put in Mrs. Willoughby, with a sly +look at the deacons. + +"And me a-waitin' to discuss the new church service," bellowed Strong. + +"And me a-waiting to give him Mrs. Elverson's message," piped Elverson. + +"The church bore all this in silence so long as that girl was sick," +snapped Miss Perkins. "But now she's perfectly well, and still a-hanging +on. No wonder folks are talking." + +"Who's talking?" thundered Strong. + +"Didn't you know?" simpered Mrs. Willoughby, not knowing herself nor +caring, so long as the suspicion grew. + +"Know what?" yelled the excited deacon. Mrs. Willoughby floundered. Miss +Perkins rushed into the breach. + +"Well, if _I_ was deacon of this church, it seems to me I'd know +something about what's going on in it." + +"What IS goin' on?" shrieked the now desperate deacon. + +The women looked at him pityingly, exchanged knowing glances, then shook +their heads at his hopeless stupidity. + +Strong was not accustomed to criticism. He prided himself upon his +acuteness, and was, above all, vain about his connection with the +church. He looked from one woman to the other. He was seething with +helpless rage. The little deacon at his side coughed nervously. Strong's +pent up wrath exploded. "Why didn't YOU tell me, Elverson, that people +was a-talkin'," he roared in the frightened man's ear. + +Elverson sputtered and stammered, but nothing definite came of the +sounds; so Strong again turned to Miss Perkins: + +"What is going on?" he demanded. + +The spinster shrugged her shoulders and lifted her eyes heavenward, +knowing that nothing could so madden the deacon as this mysterious +inference of things too terrible to mention. She was right. Strong +uttered a desperate "Bah!" and began pacing up and down the garden with +reckless strides. + +Mrs. Willoughby watched him with secret delight, and when he came to a +halt, she wriggled to his side with simpering sweetness. + +"What COULD folks say?" she asked. "A minister and a young circus riding +girl living here like this with no one to--" She found no words at this +point and Strong, now thoroughly roused, declared that the congregation +should have no further cause for gossip, and went out quickly in search +of Douglas. + +When Strong was gone, Elverson looked at the set faces of the women, and +attempted a weak apology for the pastor. "I dare say the young man was +very lonely--very--before she came." + +"Lonely?" snapped Miss Perkins. "Well, if HE was LONELY, _I_ didn't know +it." + +The deacon excused himself nervously, and went to join Strong. + +The women gathered up their buntings, and retired with bland smiles to +the Sunday-school-room, feeling that they had accomplished enough for +the time being. + +Strong and Elverson crossed the yard, still in search of the pastor. +They turned at the sound of fluttering leaves and beheld Douglas, +hatless, tearing down the path. Strong called to him, but Douglas +darted quickly behind the hedge. The deacons looked at one another in +speechless astonishment. Presently the silence was broken by the distant +voice of Polly counting from one to one hundred. The secret was out! The +pastor, a leader of the church, was playing hide-and-seek. + +"Mr. Douglas!" shouted Strong, when his breath had returned. + +"Hush, hush!" whispered Douglas, looking over the hedge. He peeped +cautiously about him, then came toward the men with a sigh of relief. +"It's all right. She has gone the other way." + +"It'll be a good thing for you if she never comes back," said Strong, +and Douglas's quick ear caught an unpleasant meaning in his tone. + +"What's that?" the pastor asked, in a low, steady voice. + +"We don't like some of the things that are going on here, and I want to +talk to you about 'em." + +"Very well, but see if you can't talk in a lower key." + +"Never mind about the key," shouted Strong, angrily. + +"But I DO mind." Something in his eyes made the deacon lower his voice. + +"We want to know how much longer that girl is goin' to stay here?" + +"Indeed! And why?" The colour was leaving Douglas's face, and his jaw +was becoming very square. + +"Because she's been here long enough." + +"I don't agree with you there." + +"Well, it don't make no difference whether you do or not. She's got to +go." + +"Go?" echoed Douglas. + +"Yes, sir-e-bob. We've made up our minds to that." + +"And who do you mean by 'we'?" + +"The members of this congregation," replied Strong, impatiently. + +"Am I to understand that YOU are speaking for THEM?" There was a deep +frown between the young pastor's eyes. He was beginning to be perplexed. + +"Yes, and as deacon of this church." + +"Then, as deacon of this church, you tell the congregation for me that +that is MY affair." + +"Your affair!" shouted Strong. "When that girl is living under the +church's roof, eating the church's bread!" + +"Just one moment! You don't quite understand. I am minister of this +church, and for that position I receive, or am supposed to receive, a +salary to live on, and this parsonage, rent free, to live in. Any +guests that I may have here are MY guests, and NOT guests of the church. +Remember that, please." + +There was an embarrassing silence. The deacons recalled that the +pastor's salary WAS slightly in arrears. Elverson coughed meekly. Strong +started. + +"You keep out of this, Elverson!" he cried. "I'm running this affair and +I ain't forgetting my duty nor the parson's." + +"I shall endeavour to do MY duty as I see it," answered Douglas, turning +away and dismissing the matter. + +"Your duty is to your church," thundered Strong. + +"You're right about that, Deacon Strong'" answered Douglas, wheeling +about sharply, "and my duty to the church is reason enough for my acting +exactly as I am doing in this case." + +"Is your duty to the church the ONLY reason you keep that girl here?" + +"No, there are other reasons." + +"I thought so." + +"You've heard her story--you MUST have heard. She was left with me by an +old clown who belonged in the circus where she worked. Before he died +he asked me to look after her. She has no one else. I shall certainly do +so." + +"That was when she was hurt. She's well now, and able to go back where +she came from. Do you expect us to have our young folks associatin' with +a circus ridin' girl?" + +"So, that's it!" cried the pastor, with a pitying look. "You think this +child is unfit for your homes because she was once in a circus. For +some reason, circus to you spells crime. You call yourself a Christian, +Deacon Strong, and yet you insist that I send a good, innocent girl +back to a life which you say is sinful. I'm ashamed of you, Strong--I'm +ashamed of you!" + +"That talk don't do no good with me," roared Strong. He was desperate at +being accused of an unchristian attitude. + +"I ain't askin' you to send her back to the circus. I don't care WHERE +you send her. Get her away from HERE, that's all." + +"Not so long as she wishes to stay." + +"You won't?" Strong saw that he must try a new attack. He came close to +Douglas and spoke with a marked insinuation. "If you was a friend to +the girl, you wouldn't want the whole congregation a-pointin' fingers at +her." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that you're living here alone with her and it looks bad--bad for +the girl, and bad for YOU--and folks is talkin'." + +"Are you trying to tell me that my people are evil-minded enough to +think that I--" Douglas stopped. He could not frame the question. "I +don't believe it," he concluded shortly. + +"You'll be MADE to believe it if you don't get rid of that girl." + +"Do YOU believe it?" He turned upon the little man at his side! "Do you +believe it, Elverson?" + +Elverson had been so accustomed to Strong monopolising the conversation, +that he had become hopelessly lost as the discussion went on, and the +sudden appeal to him all but paralysed his power of speech. He was still +gurgling and sputtering when Strong interrupted, impatiently. + +"It makes no difference whether we believe it or not. We're going to do +our duty by the church, and that girl must leave or----" + +"Or I must." Douglas pieced out Strong's phrase for himself. "That +threat doesn't frighten me at all, deacon. After what you have said, +I should refuse to remain in this church"--the deacon stepped forward +eagerly--"were it not that I realise more than ever before how much +you need me, how much you ignorant, narrow-minded creatures need to +be taught the meaning of true Christianity." The deacon was plainly +disappointed. + +"Is it possible?" gasped Elverson, weakly. + +"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Strong, when he could +trust himself to speak again. + +"I shall do what is best for Miss Polly," said the pastor quietly but +firmly. + +He turned away to show that the interview was at an end. Strong followed +him. Douglas pointed to the gate with a meaning not to be mistaken. +"Good afternoon, deacon." + +Strong hesitated. He looked at the pastor, then at the gate, then at the +pastor again. "I'll go," he shouted; "but it ain't the end!" He slammed +the gate behind him. + +"Quite so, quite so," chirped Elverson, not having the slightest idea of +what he was saying. He saw the frigid expression on the pastor's face, +he coughed behind his hat, and followed Strong. + + + +Chapter X + +Douglas dropped wearily onto the rustic bench. He sat with drooped head +and unseeing eyes. He did not hear Polly as she scurried down the path, +her arms filled with autumn leaves. She glanced at him, dropped the +bright-coloured foliage, and slipped quickly to the nearest tree. "One, +two, three for Mr. John," she cried, as she patted the huge, brown +trunk. + +"Is that you, Polly?" he asked absently. + +"Now, it's your turn to catch me," she said, lingering near the tree. +The pastor was again lost in thought. "Aren't you going to play any +more?" There was a shade of disappointment in her voice. She came slowly +to his side. + +"Sit here, Polly," he answered gravely, pointing to a place on the +bench. "I want to talk to you." + +"Now, I've done something wrong," she pouted. She gathered up her +garlands and brought them to a place near his feet, ignoring the seat at +his side. "You might just as well tell me and get it over." + +"You couldn't do anything wrong," he answered, looking down at her. + +"Oh, yes, I could--and I've done it--I can see it in your face. What is +it?" + +"What have you there?" he asked, trying to gain time, and not knowing +how to broach the subject that in justice to her must be discussed. + +"Some leaves to make garlands for the social," Polly answered more +cheerfully. "Would you mind holding this?" She gave him one end of a +string of leaves. + +"Where are the children?" + +"Gone home." + +"You like the children very much, don't you, Polly?" Douglas was +striving for a path that might lead them to the subject that was +troubling him. + +"Oh, no, I don't LIKE them, I LOVE them." She looked at him with tender +eyes. + +"You're the greatest baby of all." A puzzled line came between his eyes +as he studied her more closely. "And yet, you're not such a child, are +you, Polly? You're quite grown up, almost a young lady." He looked at +her from a strange, unwelcome point of view. She was all of that as she +sat at his feet, yearning and slender and fair, at the turning of her +seventeenth year. + +"I wonder how you would like to go way?" Her eyes met his in terror. +"Away to a great school," he added quickly, flinching from the very +first hurt that he had inflicted; "where there are a lot of other young +ladies." + +"Is it a place where you would be?" She looked up at him anxiously. She +wondered if his "show" was about to "move on." + +"I'm afraid not," Douglas answered, smiling in spite of his heavy heart. + +"I wouldn't like any place without you," she said decidedly, and seemed +to consider the subject dismissed. + +"But if it was for your GOOD," Douglas persisted. + +"It could never be for my good to leave you." + +"But just for a little while," he pleaded. How was she ever to +understand? How could he take from her the sense of security that he had +purposely taught her to feel in his house? + +"Not even for a moment," Polly answered, with a decided shake of her +head. + +"But you must get ahead in your studies," he argued. + +She looked at him anxiously. She was beginning to be alarmed at his +persistence. + +"Maybe I've been playing too many periscous games." + +"Not periscous, Polly, promiscuous." + +"Pro-mis-cuous," she repeated, haltingly. "What does that mean?" + +"Indiscriminate." He rubbed his forehead as he saw the puzzled look on +her face. "Mixed up," he explained, more simply. + +"Our game wasn't mixed up." She was thinking of the one to which the +widow had objected. "Is it promiscuous to catch somebody?" + +"It depends upon whom you catch," he answered with a dry, whimsical +smile. + +"Well, I don't catch anybody but the children." She looked up at him +with serious, inquiring eyes. + +"Never mind, Polly. Your games aren't promiscuous." She did not hear +him. She was searching for her book. + +"Is this what you are looking for?" he asked, drawing the missing +article from his pocket. + +"Oh!" cried Polly, with a flush of embarrassment. "Mandy told you." + +"You've been working a long time on that." + +"I thought I might help you if I learned everything you told me," she +answered, timidly. "But I don't suppose I could." + +"I can never tell you how much you help me, Polly." + +"Do I?" she cried, eagerly. + +"I can help more if you will only let me. I can teach a bigger class in +Sunday-school now. I got to the book of Ruth to-day." + +"You did?" He pretended to be astonished. He was anxious to encourage +her enthusiasm. + +"Um hum!" She answered solemnly. A dreamy look came into her eyes. "Do +you remember the part that you read to me the first day I came?" He +nodded. He was thinking how care-free they were that day. How impossible +such problems as the present one would have seemed then. "I know every +bit of what you read by heart. It's our next Sunday-school lesson." + +"So it is." + +"Do you think now that it would be best for me to go away?" She looked +up into his troubled face. + +"We'll see, we'll see," he murmured, then tried to turn her mind +toward other things. "Come now, let's find out whether you DO know your +Sunday-school lesson. How does it begin?" There was no answer. She had +turned away with trembling lips. "And Ruth said"--he took her two small +hands and drew her face toward him, meaning to prompt her. + +"Entreat me not to leave thee," she pleaded. Her eyes met his. His face +was close to hers. The small features before him were quivering with +emotion. She was so frail, so helpless, so easily within his grasp. His +muscles grew tense and his lips closed firmly. He was battling with an +impulse to draw her toward him and comfort her in the shelter of his +strong, brave arms. "They shan't!" he cried, starting toward her. + +Polly drew back, overawed. Her soul had heard and seen the things +revealed to each of us only once. She would never again be a child. + +Douglas braced himself against the back of the bench. + +"What was the rest of the lesson?" he asked in a firm, hard voice. + +"I can't say it now," Polly murmured. Her face was averted; her white +lids fluttered and closed. + +"Nonsense, of course you can. Come, come, I'll help you." Douglas spoke +sharply. He was almost vexed with her and with himself for the weakness +that was so near overcoming them. "And Ruth said, 'Entreat me not to +leave thee----'" + +"'Or to return from following after thee.'" She was struggling to keep +back the tears. "'For whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou +lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my' +"--She stopped. + +"That's right, go on," said Douglas, striving to control the +unsteadiness in his own voice. + +"Where thou diest, will I die'"--her arms went out blindly. + +"Oh, you won't send me away, will you?" she sobbed. "I don't want to +learn anything else just--except--from you." She covered her face and +slipped, a little, broken heap at his feet. + +In an instant the pastor's strong arms were about her, his stalwart body +was supporting her. "You shan't go away. I won't let you--I won't! Do +you hear me, Polly? I won't!" + +Her breath was warm against his cheek. He could feel her tears, her arms +about him, as she clung to him helplessly, sobbing and quivering in the +shelter of his strong embrace. "You are never going to leave me--never!" + +A new purpose had come into his life, the realisation of a new +necessity, and he knew that the fight which he must henceforth make for +this child was the same that he must make for himself. + + + +Chapter XI + +"I'se goin' into de Sunday-school-room to take off dat ere widow's +finishin' touches," said Mandy, as she came down the steps. + +"All right!" called Douglas. "Take these with you, perhaps they may +help." He gathered up the garlands which Polly had left on the ground. +His eyes were shining, he looked younger than Mandy had ever seen him. + +Polly had turned her back at the sound of Mandy's voice and crossed to +the elm tree, drying her tears of happiness and trying to control her +newly awakened emotions. Douglas felt intuitively that she needed this +moment for recovery, so he piled the leaves and garlands high in Mandy's +arms, then ran into the house with the light step of a boy. + +"I got the set-sit-settin' room all tidied up," said Mandy as she shot a +sly glance at Polly. + +"That's good," Polly answered, facing Mandy at last and dimpling and +blushing guiltily. + +"Mos' de sociable folks will mos' likely be hangin' roun' de parsonage +to-night, 'stead ob stayin' in de Sunday-school-room, whar dey belongs. +Las' time dat ere Widow Willoughby done set aroun' all ebenin' a-tellin' +de parson as how folks could jes' eat off'n her kitchen floor, an' I +ups an' tells her as how folks could pick up a good, squar' meal off'n +MANDY'S floor, too. Guess she'll be mighty careful what she says afore +Mandy to-night." She chuckled as she disappeared down the walk to the +Sunday-school-room. + +Polly stood motionless where Mandy had left her. She hardly knew which +way to turn. She was happy, yet afraid. She felt like sinking upon her +knees and begging God to be good to her, to help her. She who had once +been so independent, so self-reliant, now felt the need of direction +from above. She was no longer master of her own soul, something had +gone from her, something that would never, never come again. While +she hesitated, Hasty came through the gate looking anxiously over his +shoulder. + +"Well, Hasty?" she said, for it was apparent that Hasty had something +important on his mind. + +"It's de big one from de circus," he whispered, excitedly. + +"The big one?" + +"You know--De one what brung you." + +"You don't mean--?" Polly's question was answered by Jim himself who had +followed Hasty quickly through the gate. Their arms were instantly about +each other. Jim forgot Hasty and every one in the world except Polly, +and neither of them noticed the horrified Miss Perkins and the Widow +Willoughby, who had been crossing the yard on their way from the +Sunday-school-room with Julia. + +"You're just as big as ever," said Polly, when she could let go of Jim +long enough to look at him. "You haven't changed a bit." + +"You've changed enough for both of us." He looked at the unfamiliar long +skirts and the new way of doing her hair. "You're bigger, Poll; more +grown up like." + +"Oh, Jim!" She glanced admiringly at the new brown suit, the rather +startling tie, and the neat little posy in Jim's buttonhole. + +"The fellows said I'd have to slick up a bit if I was a-comin' to see +you, so as not to make you ashamed of me. Do you like 'em?" he asked, +looking down approvingly at his new brown clothes. + +"Very much." For the first time Jim noticed the unfamiliar manner of her +speech. He began to feel self-conscious. A year ago she would have said, +"You bet!" He looked at her awkwardly. She hurried on: "Hasty told me +you were showing in Wakefield. I knew you'd come to see me. How's Barker +and all the boys?" She stopped with a catch in her throat, and added +more slowly: "I suppose everything's different, now that Toby is gone." + +"He'd a-liked to a-seen you afore he cashed in," Jim answered; "but +maybe it was just as well he didn't. You'd hardly a-knowed him toward +the last, he got so thin an' peeked like. He wasn't the same after we +lost you, nobody was, not even Bingo." + +"Have you still got Bingo?" she asked, through her tears. + +"Yep, we got him," drawled Jim, "but he ain't much good no more. None +of the other riders can get used to his gait like you was. There ain't +nobody with the show what can touch you ridin', there never will be. +Say, mebbe you think Barker won't let out a yell when he sees yer comin' +back." Jim was jubilant now, and he let out a little yell of his own at +the mere thought of her return. He was too excited to notice the look +on Polly's face. "Toby had a notion before he died that you was never +a-comin' back, but I told him I'd change all that once I seed yer, and +when Barker sent me over here to-day to look arter the advertisin', +he said he guessed you'd had all you wanted a' church folks. 'Jes' you +bring her along to Wakefield,' he said, 'an' tell her that her place +is waitin' for her,' and I will, too." He turned upon Polly with sudden +decision. "Why, I feel jes' like pickin' yer up in my arms and carryin' +you right off now." + +"Wait, Jim!" She put one tiny hand on his arm to restrain him. + +"I don't mean--not--to-day--mebbe"--he stammered, uncertainly, "but +we'll be back here a-showin' next month." + +"Don't look at me now," Polly answered, as the dog-like eyes searched +her face, "because I have to say something that is going to hurt you, +Jim." + +"You're comin', ain't yer, Poll?" The big face was wrinkled and +care-worn with trouble. + +"No, Jim," she replied in a tone so low that he could scarcely hear her. + +"You mean that you ain't NEVER comin' back?" He tried to realise what +such a decision might mean to him. + +"No, Jim." She answered tenderly, for she dreaded the pain that she must +cause the great, good-hearted fellow. "You mustn't care like that," she +pleaded, seeing the blank desolation that had come into his face. "It +isn't because I don't love you just the same, and it was good of Barker +to keep my place for me, but I can't go back." + +He turned away; she clung to the rough, brown sleeve. "Why, Jim, when I +lie in my little room up there at night"--she glanced toward the window +above them--"and everything is peaceful and still, I think how it used +to be in the old days, the awful noise and the rush of it all, the +cheerless wagons, the mob in the tent, the ring with its blazing lights, +the whirling round and round on Bingo, and the hoops, always the hoops, +till my head got dizzy and my eyes all dim; and then the hurry after the +show, and the heat and the dust or the mud and the rain, and the rumble +of the wheels in the plains at night, and the shrieks of the animals, +and then the parade, the awful, awful parade, and I riding through the +streets in tights, Jim! Tights!" She covered her face to shut out the +memory. "I couldn't go back to it, Jim! I just couldn't!" She turned +away, her face still hidden in her hands. He looked at her a long while +in silence. + +"I didn't know how you'd come to feel about it," he said doggedly. + +"You aren't ANGRY, Jim?" She turned to him anxiously, her eyes pleading +for his forgiveness. + +"Angry?" he echoed, almost bitterly. "I guess it couldn't ever come +to that a-tween you an' me. I'll be all right." He shrugged his great +shoulders. "It's just kinder sudden, that's all. You see, I never +figured on givin' yer up, and when you said you wasn't comin' back, it +kinder seemed as though I couldn't see nothin' all my life but long, +dusty roads, and nobody in 'em. But it's all right now, and I'll just be +gettin' along to the wagon." + +"But, Jim, you haven't seen Mr. Douglas," Polly protested, trying to +keep him with her until she could think of some way to comfort him. + +"I'll look in on him comin' back," said Jim, anxious to be alone with +his disappointment. He was out of the gate before she could stop him. + +"Hurry back, won't you, Jim? I'll be waiting for you." She watched +him going quickly down the road, his fists thrust into his brown coat +pockets, and his hat pulled over his eyes. He did not look back, as he +used to do, to wave a parting farewell, and she turned toward the house +with a troubled heart. She had reached the lower step when Strong and +Elverson approached her from the direction of the church. + +"Was that feller here to take you back to the circus?" demanded Strong. + +She opened her lips to reply, but before she could speak, Strong assured +her that the congregation wouldn't do anything to stop her if she wished +to go. He saw the blank look on her face. "We ain't tryin' to pry into +none of your private affairs," he explained; "but my daughter saw you +and that there feller a makin' up to each other. If you're calculatin' +to run away with him, you'll save a heap of trouble for the parson by +doin' it quick." + +"The parson!" + +"YOU can't blame the congregation for not wantin' him to keep you here. +You got sense enough to see how it looks. HE'D see it, too, if he wasn't +just plain, bull-headed. Well he'd better get over his stubbornness +right now, if he don't we'll get another minister, that's all." + +"Another minister? You don't mean--?" It was clear enough now. She +recalled Douglas's troubled look of an hour ago. She remembered how he +had asked if she couldn't go away. It was this that he meant when he +promised not to give her up, no matter what happened. In an instant +she was at the deacon's side pleading and terrified. "You wouldn't get +another minister! Oh, please, Deacon Strong, listen to me, listen! You +were right about Jim, he DID come to get me and I am going back to the +circus--only you won't send Mr. Douglas away, you won't! Say you won't!" +She was searching his eyes for mercy. "It wasn't HIS fault that I kept +staying on. He didn't know how to get rid of me. He DID try, he tried +only to-day." + +"So he's comin' 'round," sneered Strong. + +"Yes, yes, and you won't blame him any more, will you?" she hurried on +anxiously. "You'll let him stay, no matter what he does, if I promise to +go away and never, never come back again?" + +"I ain't holdin' no grudge agin him," Strong grumbled. "He talks +pretty rough sometimes, but he's been a good enough minister. I ain't +forgettin' that." + +"Oh, thank you, Mr. Strong, thank you. I'll get my things; it won't take +a minute." She was running up the steps when a sudden thought stopped +her. She returned quickly to Strong. "We'd better not let him know just +yet. You can tell him afterward. Tell him that I ran away--Tell him +that----" + +She was interrupted by Douglas, who came from the house. "Hello, Strong, +back again?" he asked, in some surprise. Polly remained with her eyes +fixed upon the deacon, searching for some way of escape. The pastor +approached; she burst into nervous laughter. "What's the joke?" Douglas +asked. + +"It's only a little surprise that the deacon and I are planning." She +tried to control the catch in her voice. "You'll know about it soon, +won't he, deacon? Good afternoon, Mr. Strong!" She flew into the house, +laughing hysterically. + +Douglas followed her to the steps with a puzzled frown. It was unlike +Polly to give way to her moods before others. "Have you gentlemen +changed your minds about the little girl staying on?" he asked, +uneasily. + +"It's all right now," said Strong, seating himself with a complacent +air. + +"All right? How so?" questioned Douglas, more and more puzzled by the +deacon's evident satisfaction. + +"Because," said Strong, rising and facing the pastor, "because your +circus-ridin' gal is goin' to leave you of her own accord." + +"Have you been talking to that girl?" asked Douglas, sternly. + +"I have," said Strong, holding his ground. + +"See here, deacon, if you've been browbeating that child, I may forget +that I'm a minister." The knuckles on Douglas's large fists grew whiter. + +"She's goin', I tell yer, and it ain't because of what I said either. +She's goin' back to the circus." + +"I don't believe you." + +"You would a-believed me if you'd seen the fellow that was just +a-callin' on her, and her a-huggin' and a-kissin' of him and a-promisin' +that she'd be a-waitin' for him here when he come back." + +"You lie!" cried Douglas, taking a step toward the retreating deacon. + +"There's the fellow now," cried Strong, as he pointed to the gate. +"Suppose you ask him afore yer call me a liar." + +Douglas turned quickly and saw Jim approaching. His face lighted up with +relief at the sight of the big, lumbering fellow. + +"How are yer, Mr. Douglas?" said Jim, awkwardly. + +"You've seen Polly?" asked Douglas, shaking Jim cordially by the hand. + +"Yes, I've seen her." + +"The deacon here has an idea that Polly is going back to the circus with +you." He nodded toward Strong, almost laughing at the surprise in store +for him. + +"Back to the circus?" asked Jim. + +"Did she say anything to you about it?" He was worried by the +bewilderment in Jim's manner. + +Before Jim could reply, Polly, who had reached the steps in time to +catch the last few words, slipped quickly between them. She wore her +coat and hat, and carried a small brown satchel. + +"Of course I did, didn't I, Jim?" she said, turning her back upon the +pastor and motioning to Jim not to answer. Douglas gazed at her in +astonishment. + +"What do you mean?" he asked in a hoarse, strained voice. He glanced at +the coat and hat. "Where are you going?" + +Polly avoided his eyes and continued nervously to Jim. + +"What made you come back? Why didn't you wait for me down the street? +Now, you've spoiled everything." She pretended to be very vexed with +him. The big fellow looked puzzled. He tried to protest, but she put a +warning finger to her lips and pressed the little brown satchel into his +hand. "It's no use," she went on hurriedly. "We might as well tell them +everything now." She turned to Douglas and pretended to laugh. "You have +found us out." + +The deacons were slightly uneasy; the frown on Douglas's forehead was +deepening. + +"Oh, see how serious he looks," she teased, with a toss of her head +toward the grim-visaged pastor. + +"Is this some trick?" he demanded, sternly. + +"Don't be angry," she pleaded. "Wish me luck." + +She held out one small hand; he did not take it. She wavered, then she +felt the eyes of the deacons upon her. Courage returned and she spoke in +a firm, clear voice: "I am going to run away." + +Douglas stepped before her and studied her keenly. + +"Run away?" he exclaimed incredulously. + +"Yes, to the circus with Jim." + +"You couldn't DO such a thing," he answered, excitedly. "Why, only a +moment ago you told me you would never leave me." + +"Oh, but that was a moment ago," she cried, in a strained, high voice. +"That was before Jim came. You see, I didn't know HOW I felt until I saw +Jim and heard all about my old friends, how Barker is keeping my place +for me, and how they all want to see me. And I want to see them, and +to hear the music and the laughter and the clown songs--Oh, the clown +songs!" She waltzed about, humming the snatch of melody that Mandy had +heard the morning that Polly first woke in the parsonage. + + "Ting, ling. + That's how the bells ring, + Ting, ling, pretty young thing." + +She paused, her hands clasped behind her head, and gazed at them with a +brave, little smile. "Oh, it's going to be fine! Fine!" + +"You don't know what you're doing," said Douglas. He seized her roughly +by the arm. Pain was making him brutal. "I won't LET you go! Do you hear +me? I won't--not until you've thought it over." + +"I have thought it over," Polly answered, meeting his eyes and trying +to speak lightly. Her lips trembled. She could not bear for him to +think her so ungrateful. She remembered his great kindness; the many +thoughtful acts that had made the past year so precious to her. + +"You've been awfully good to me, Mr. John." She tried to choke back a +sob. "I'll never forget it--never! I'll always feel the same toward you. +But you mustn't ask me to stay. I want to get back to them that knew me +first--to my OWN! Circus folks aren't cut out for parsons' homes, and +I was born in the circus. I love it--I love it!" She felt her strength +going, and cried out wildly: "I want Bingo! I want to go round and round +the ring! I want the lights and the music and the hoops! I want the +shrieks of the animals, and the rumble of the wheels in the plains at +night! I want to ride in the big parade! I want to live and die--just +die--as circus folks die! I want to go back! I want to go back!" + +She put out one trembling hand to Jim and rushed quickly through the +gate laughing and sobbing hysterically and calling to him to follow. + + + +Chapter XII + +LONELY days followed Polly's desertion of the parsonage. Mandy went +about her duties very quietly, feeling that the little comments which +once amused the pastor had now become an interruption to thoughts in +which she had no part. He would sit for hours with his head in his +hands, taking no notice of what passed before him. She tried to think of +new dishes to tempt his appetite, and shook her head sadly as she bore +the untasted food back to the kitchen. + +She sometimes found a portfolio of drawings lying open upon his study +table. She remembered the zeal with which he had planned to remodel the +church and parsonage, when he first came to them; how his enthusiasm had +gradually died for lack of encouragement; and how he had at last put +his books in a cupboard, where they grew dusty from long neglect. She +marvelled at their reappearance now, but something in his set, far-away +look made her afraid to inquire. Thus she went on from day to day, +growing more impatient with Hasty and more silent with the pastor. + +Mandy needed humor and companionship to oil the wheels of her humdrum +life; there was no more laughter in the house, and she began to droop. + +Polly had been away from the parsonage a month, when the complacency +of the village was again upset by the arrival of the "Great American +Circus." + +There were many callers at the parsonage that day, for speculation was +now at fever heat about the pastor. "Would he try to see her? had he +forgotten her? and what had he ever found in her?" were a few of the +many questions that the women were asking each other. Now, that the +cause of their envy was removed, they would gladly have reinstated the +pastor as their idol; for, like all truly feminine souls, they could +not bear to see a man unhappy without wishing to comfort him, nor happy +unless they were the direct cause of his state. "How dare any man be +happy without me?" has been the cry of each woman since Eve was created +to mate with Adam. + +Douglas had held himself more and more aloof from the day of Polly's +disappearance. He expressed no opinion about the deacons or their recent +disapproval of him. He avoided meeting them oftener than duty required; +and Strong felt so uncomfortable and tongue-tied in his presence that +he, too, was glad to make their talks as few as possible. + +Nothing was said about the pastor's plans for the future, or about his +continued connection with the church, and the inquisitive sisterhood +was on the point of exploding from an over-accumulation of unanswered +questions. + +He delivered his sermons conscientiously, called upon his poor, listened +to the sorrows, real and fancied, of his parishioners, and shut himself +up with his books or walked alone on the hill behind the church. + +He had been absent all day, when Mandy looked out on the circus lot for +the dozenth time, and saw that the afternoon performance was closing. +It had driven her to desperation to learn that Miss Polly was not in the +parade that morning, and to know that the pastor had made no effort +to find out about her. For weeks both she and Hasty had hoped that the +return of the circus might bring Polly back to them; but now it was +nearly night and there had been no word from her. Why didn't she come +running in to see them, as Mandy had felt so sure she would? Why had the +pastor stayed away on the hills all day? + +Unanswered questions were always an abomination to Mandy, so finally she +drew a quarter from the knotted gingham rag that held her small wad of +savings, and told Hasty "to go long to de show and find out 'bout Miss +Polly." + +She was anxiously waiting for him, when Deacon Strong knocked at the +door for the second time that afternoon. + +"Is Mr. Douglas back yet?' he asked. + +"No, sah, he ain't," said Mandy, very shortly. She felt that Strong +and Elverson had been "a-tryin' to spy on de parson all day," and she +resented their visits more than she usually did. + +"What time are you expectin' him?" + +"I don't nebber spec' Massa Douglas till I sees him." + +Strong grunted uncivilly, and went down the steps. She saw from the +window that he met Elverson in front of the church. + +"Dey sure am a-meanin' trouble," she mumbled. + +The band had stopped playing; the last of the audience had straggled +down the street. She opened the door and stood on the porch; the house +seemed to suffocate her. What was keeping Hasty? + +He came at last, but Mandy could tell from his gait that he brought +unwelcome news. + +"Ain't she dar?" + +"She's wid 'em, all right," said Hasty. + +"Yuh seed her?" + +"Naw, I didn't done SEED her." + +"What?" + +"She want in de show." + +"What you jes' tell me?" + +"She's a-trabbelin' wid 'em, Mandy, but she didn't done ride." + +"See heah, Hasty Jones, is dat ere chile sick?" + +"I don' rightly know," said Hasty. "A great big man, what wored clothes +like a gemmen, comed out wid a whip in his hand and says as how he's +'bliged to 'nounce anudder gal in Miss Polly's place. An' den he says +as how de udder gal was jes' as good, an' den everybody look disappinted +like, an' den out comes de udder gal on a hoss an' do tricks, an' I +ain't heard no more 'bout Miss Polly." + +"Why didn't you done ask somebody?" + +"Warn't nobody ter ask but de man what wuz hurryin' ever'body to get +out of de tent. I done ast him, but he say as 'didn't I git ma money's +worth?' an' den ebberbody laugh, an' he shove me 'long wid de rest of de +folks, an' here I is." + +"She's sick, dat's what _I_ says," Mandy declared, excitedly; "an' +somebody's got to do somethin'!" + +"I done all I knowed," drawled Hasty, fearing that Mandy was regretting +her twenty-five-cent investment. + +"Go 'long out an' fix up dat ere kitchen fire," was Mandy's impatient +reply. "I got to keep dem vittels warm fer Massa John." + +She wished to be alone, so that she could think of some way to get hold +of Polly. "Dat baby-faced mornin'-glory done got Mandy all wobbly 'bout +de heart," she declared to herself, as she crossed to the window for a +sight of the pastor. + +It was nearly dark when she saw him coming slowly down the path from the +hill. She lighted the study-lamp, rearranged the cushions, and tried to +make the room look cheery for his entrance. He stopped in the hall and +hung up his hat. There was momentary silence. Would he shut himself in +his room for the night, or would he come into the study? At last the +door opened and Mandy hastened to place a chair for him. + +"Ah's 'fraid you'se mighty tired," she said. + +"Oh, no," answered Douglas, absently. + +"Mebbe you'd like Mandy to be sarvin' your supper in here to-night. It's +more cheerfuller." + +The side-showman was already beginning his spiel in the lot below. The +lemonade venders{sic} and the popcorn sellers were heard crying their +wares. Douglas did not answer her. She bustled from the room, declaring +"she was jes' goin' ter bring him a morsel." + +He crossed to the window and looked out upon the circus lot. The flare +of the torches and the red fire came up to meet his pale, tense face. +"How like the picture of thirteen months ago," he thought, and old +Toby's words came back to him--"The show has got to go on." + +Above the church steeple, the moon was battling its way through the +clouds. His eyes travelled from heaven to earth. There was a spirit +of unreality in it all. Something made him mistrust himself, his very +existence. He longed to have done with dreams and speculation, to feel +something tangible, warm, and real within his grasp. "I can't go on +like this!" he cried. "I can't!" He turned from the window and walked +hurriedly up and down the room; indoors or out, he found no rest. He +threw himself in the armchair near the table, and sat buried in thought. + +Mandy came softly into the room. She was followed by Hasty, who carried +a tray, laden with things that ought to have tempted any man. She +motioned for Hasty to put the tray on the table, and then began +arranging the dishes. Hasty stole to the window, and peeped out at the +tempting flare of red fire. + +When Douglas discovered the presence of his two "faithfuls" he was +touched with momentary contrition. He knew that he often neglected to +chat with them now, and he made an effort to say something that might +restore the old feeling of comradeship. + +"Have you had a hard day with the new gravel walk?" he asked +Hasty, remembering that he had been laying a fresh path to the +Sunday-school-room. + +Hasty glanced uneasily at Mandy, afraid either to lie or tell the truth +about the disposition she had made of his afternoon. + +"Jes' you come eat yo' supper," Mandy called to Douglas. "Don' yous +worry your head 'bout dat lazy husban' ob mine. He ain' goin' ter work +'nuff to hurt hisself." For an instant she had been tempted to let the +pastor know how Hasty had gone to the circus and seen nothing of Polly; +but her motherly instinct won the day and she urged him to eat before +disturbing him with her own anxieties. It was no use. He only toyed with +his food; he was clearly ill at ease and eager to be alone. She gave up +trying to tempt his appetite, and began to lead up in a roundabout way +to the things which she wished to ask. + +"Dar's quite some racket out dar in de lot tonight," she said; Douglas +did not answer. After a moment, she went on: "Hasty didn't work on no +walk to-day." Douglas looked at her quizzically, while Hasty, convinced +that for reasons of her own she was going to get him into trouble, was +making frantic motions. "He done gone to de circus," she blurted out. +Douglas's face became suddenly grave. Mandy saw that she had touched an +open wound. + +"I jes' couldn't stan' it, Massa John. I HAD to find out 'bout dat angel +chile." There was a pause. She felt that he was waiting for her to go +on. + +"She didn't done ride to-day." + +He looked up with the eyes of a dumb, persecuted animal. "And de gemmen +in de show didn't tell nobody why--jes' speaked about de udder gal +takin' her place." + +"Why DIDN'T she ride?" cried Douglas, in an agony of suspense. + +"Dat's what I don' know, sah." Mandy began to cry. It was the first time +in his experience that Douglas had ever known her to give way to any +such weakness. He walked up and down the room, uncertain what to do. + +Hasty came down from the window and tried to put one arm about Mandy's +shoulders. + +"Leab me alone, you nigga!" she exclaimed, trying to cover her tears +with a show of anger that she did not feel; then she rushed from the +room, followed by Hasty. + +The band was playing loudly; the din of the night performance was +increasing. Douglas's nerves were strained to a point of breaking. He +would not let himself go near the window. He stood by the side of the +table, his fists clenched, and tried to beat back the impulse that was +pulling him toward the door. Again and again he set his teeth. + +It was uncertainty that gnawed at him so. Was she ill? Could she need +him? Was she sorry for having left him? Would she be glad if he went for +her and brought her back with him? He recalled the hysterical note in +her behaviour the day that she went away; how she had pleaded, only a +few moments before Jim came, never to be separated from him. Had she +really cared for Jim and for the old life? Why had she never written? +Was she ashamed? Was she sorry for what she had done? What could it +mean? He threw his hands above his head with a gesture of despair. A +moment later, he passed out into the night. + + + +Chapter XIII + +JIM was slow to-night. The big show was nearly over, yet many of the +props used in the early part of the bill were still unloaded. + +He was tinkering absent-mindedly with one of the wagons in the back lot, +and the men were standing about idly, waiting for orders, when Barker +came out of the main tent and called to him sharply: + +"Hey, there, Jim! What's your excuse to-night?" + +"Excuse for what?" Jim crossed slowly to Barker. + +"The cook tent was started half an hour late, and the side show top +ain't loaded yet." + +"Your wagons is on the bum, that's what! Number thirty-eight carries the +cook tent and the blacksmith has been tinkering with it all day. Ask HIM +what shape it's in." + +"You're always stallin'," was Barker's sullen complaint. "It's the +wagons, or the black-smiths, or anything but the truth. _I_ know what's +the matter, all right." + +"What do you mean by that?" asked Jim, sharply. + +"I mean that all your time's took up a-carryin' and a-fetchin' for that +girl what calls you 'Muvver Jim.'" + +"What have yer got to say about her?" Jim eyed him with a threatening +look. + +"I got a-plenty," said Barker, as he turned to snap his whip at the +small boys who had stolen into the back lot to peek under the rear edge +of the "big top." "She's been about as much good as a sick cat since she +come back. You saw her act last night." + +"Yes," answered Jim, doggedly. + +"Wasn't it punk? She didn't show at ALL this afternoon--said she was +sick. And me with all them people inside what knowed her, waitin' ter +see 'er." + +"Give her a little time," Jim pleaded. "She ain't rode for a year." + +"Time!" shouted Barker. "How much does she want? She's been back a month +and instead o' bracin' up, she's a-gettin' worse. There's only one thing +for me to do." + +"What's that?" asked Jim, uneasily. + +"I'm goin' ter call her, and call her hard." + +"Look here, Barker," and Jim squared his shoulders as he looked steadily +at the other man; "you're boss here, and I takes orders from you, but if +I catches you abusin' Poll, your bein' boss won't make no difference." + +"You can't bluff me," shouted Barker. + +"I ain't bluffin'; I'm only TELLIN' yer," said Jim, very quietly. + +"Well, you TELL her to get onto her job. If she don't she quits, that's +all." He hurried into the ring. + +Jim took one step to follow him, then stopped and gazed at the ground +with thoughtful eyes. He, too, had seen the change in Polly. He had +tried to rouse her; it was no use. She had looked at him blankly. "If +she would only complain," he said to himself. "If she would only get +mad, anything, anything to wake her." But she did not complain. She +went through her daily routine very humbly and quietly. She sometimes +wondered how Jim could talk so much about her work, but before she could +answer the question, her mind drifted back to other days, to a garden +and flowers, and Jim stole away unmissed, and left her with folded hands +and wide, staring eyes, gazing into the distance. + +The memory of these times made Jim helpless to-night. He had gone on +hoping from day to day that Barker might not notice the "let-down" in +her work, and now the blow had fallen. How could he tell her? + +One of the acts came tumbling out of the main tent. There was a moment's +confusion, as clowns, acrobats and animals passed each other on their +way to and from the ring, then the lot cleared again, and Polly came +slowly from the dressing tent. She looked very different from the little +girl whom Jim had led away from the parson's garden in a simple, white +frock one month before. Her thin, pensive face contrasted oddly with +her glittering attire. Her hair was knotted high on her head {a}nd +intertwined with flowers and jewels. Her slender neck seemed scarcely +able to support its burden. Her short, full skirt and low cut bodice +were ablaze with white and coloured stones. + +"What's on, Jim?" she asked. + +"The 'Leap o' Death.' You got plenty a' time." + +Polly's mind went back to the girl who answered that call a year ago. +Her spirit seemed very near to-night. The band stopped playing. Barker +made his grandiloquent announcement about the wonderful act about to be +seen, and her eyes wandered to the distant church steeple. The moonlight +seemed to shun it to-night. It looked cold and grim and dark. She +wondered whether the solemn bell that once called its flock to worship +had become as mute as her own dead heart. She did not hear the whirr of +the great machine inside the tent, as it plunged through space with its +girl occupant. These things were a part of the daily routine, part of +the strange, vague dream through which she must stumble for the rest of +her life. + +Jim watched her in silence. Her face was turned from him. She had +forgotten his presence. + +"Star gazin', Poll?" he asked at length, dreading to disturb her revery. + +"I guess I was, Jim." She turned to him with a little, forced smile. He +longed to save her from Barker's threatened rebuke. + +"How yer feelin' to-night?" + +"I'm all right," she answered, cheerfully + +"Anythin' yer want?" + +"Want?" she turned upon him with startled eyes. There was so much that +she wanted, that the mere mention of the word had opened a well of pain +in her heart. + +"I mean, can I do anythin' for you?" + +"Oh, of course not." She remembered how little ANY ONE could do. + +"What is it, Poll?" he begged; but she only turned away and shook her +head with a sigh. He followed her with anxious eyes. "What made yer cut +out the show to-day? Was it because you didn't want ter ride afore folks +what knowed yer? Ride afore HIM, mebbe?" + +"HIM?" Her face was white. Jim feared she might swoon. "You don't mean +that he was----" + +"Oh, no," he answered, quickly, "of course not. Parsons don't come to +places like this one. I was only figurin' that yer didn't want OTHER +folks to see yer and to tell him how you was ridin'." She did not +answer. + +"Was that it, Poll?" he urged. + +"I don't know." She stared into space. + +"Was it?" + +"I guess it was," she said, after a long time. + +"I knowed it," he cried. "I was a fool to a-brung you back. Yer don't +belong with us no more." + +"Oh, don't, Jim! don't! Don't make me feel I'm in the way here, too!" + +"Here, too?" He looked at her in astonishment. "Yer wasn't in HIS way, +was yer, Poll?" + +"Yes, Jim." She saw his look of unbelief and continued hurriedly. "Oh, +I tried not to be. I tried so hard. He used to read me verses out of a +Bible about my way being his way and my people his people, but it isn't +so, Jim. Your way is the way you are born, and your people are the +people you are born with, and you can't change it, Jim, no matter how +hard you try." + +"YOU was changin' it," he answered, savagely. "You was gettin' jes' +like them people. It was me what took yer away and spoiled it all. You +oughtn't to a come. What made yer, after yer said yer wouldn't?" + +She did not answer. Strange things were going through the mind of the +slow-witted Jim. He braced himself for a difficult question. + +"Will yer answer me somethin' straight?" he asked. + +"Why, of course," she said as she met his gaze. + +"Do you love the parson, Poll?" + +She started. + +"Is that it?" + +Her lids fluttered and closed, she caught her breath quickly, her lips +apart, then looked far into the distance. + +"Yes, Jim, I'm afraid--that's it." The little figure drooped, and +she stood before him with lowered eyes, unarmed. Jim looked at her +helplessly, then shook his big, stupid head. + +"Ain't that hell?" + +It seemed such a short time to Jim since he had picked her up, a cooing +babe, at her dead mother's side. He watched the tender, averted face. +Things had turned out so differently from what he had planned. + +"And he didn't care about you--like that?" he asked, after a pause. + +"No, not in that way." She was anxious to defend the pastor from even +the thought of such a thing. "He was good and kind always, but he didn't +care THAT WAY. He's not like that." + +"I guess I'll have a talk with him," said Jim, and he turned to go. + +"Talk!" she cried. + +He stopped and looked at her in astonishment. It was the first time +that he had ever heard that sharp note in her voice. Her tiny figure was +stiffened with decision. Her eyes were blazing. + +"If you ever DARE to speak to him--about me, you'll never see me again." + +Jim was perplexed. + +"I mean it, Jim. I've made my choice, and I've come back to you. If you +ever try to fix up things between him and me, I'll run away--really and +truly away--and you'll never, never get me back." + +He shuffled awkwardly to her side and reached apologetically for +the little, clenched fist. He held it in his big, rough hand, toying +nervously with the tiny fingers. + +"I wouldn't do nothin' that you wasn't a-wantin', Poll. I was just a +tryin' to help yer, only I--I never seem to know how." + +She turned to him with tear-dimmed eyes, and rested her hands on his +great, broad shoulders, and he saw the place where he dwelt in her +heart. + + + +Chapter XIV + +THE "Leap of Death" implements were being carried from the ring, and Jim +turned away to superintend their loading. + +Performers again rushed by each other on their way to and from the main +tent. + +Polly stood in the centre of the lot, frowning and anxious. The mere +mention of the pastor's name had made it seem impossible for her to ride +to-night. For hours she had been whipping herself up to the point of +doing it, and now her courage failed her. She followed Barker as he came +from the ring. + +"Mr. Barker, please!" + +He turned upon her sharply. + +"Well, what is it NOW?" + +"I want to ask you to let me off again to-night." She spoke in a short, +jerky, desperate way. + +"What?" he shrieked. "Not go into the ring, with all them people inside +what's paid their money a-cause they knowed yer?" + +"That's it," she cried. "I can't! I can't!" + +"YER gettin' too tony!" Barker sneered. "That's the trouble with you. +You ain't been good for nothin' since you was at that parson's house. +Yer didn't stay there, and yer no use here. First thing yer know yer'll +be out all 'round." + +"Out?" + +"Sure. Yer don't think I'm goin' ter head my bill with a 'dead one,' do +you?" + +"I am not a 'dead one,'" she answered, excitedly. "I'm the best rider +you've had since mother died. You've said so yourself." + +"That was afore yer got in with them church cranks. You talk about yer +mother! Why, she'd be ashamed ter own yer." + +"She wouldn't," cried Polly. Her eyes were flashing, her face was +scarlet. The pride of hundreds of years of ancestry was quivering with +indignation. "I can ride as well as I EVER could, and I'll do it, too. +I'll do it to-morrow." + +"To-morrow?" echoed Barker. "What do you mean by that?" + +"I mean that I CAN'T go into that ring TO-NIGHT," she declared, "and I +won't." + +She was desperate now, and trading upon a strength beyond her own. + +He looked at her with momentary indecision. She WAS a good rider--the +best since her mother, as he had often told her. He could see this meant +an issue. He felt she would be on her mettle to-morrow, as far as her +work was concerned, if he left her alone to-night. + +"All right," he said, sullenly. "Yer can stay off to-night. I got the +crowd in there, anyway, and I got their money. I'll let Eloise do a turn +on Barbarian, but TO-MORROW you'd better show me your old act." + +"I'll show you!" she cried. "I'll show you!" + +"Well, see that you do." He crossed into the ring. + +Polly stood where Barker had left her, white and tense. Jim came toward +her from the direction of the wagons. He glanced at her uneasily. +"What's he been a-sayin' ter you?" + +"He says I can't ride any more." Her lips closed tightly. She stared +straight ahead of her. "He says I was no good to the people that took me +in, and I'm no use here." + +"It's not so!" thundered Jim. + +"No; it's not!" she cried. "I'll show him, Jim! I'll show +him--to-morrow!" She turned toward the dressing tent; Jim caught her +firmly by the wrist. + +"Wait, Poll! You ain't ever goin' into the ring a-feelin' THAT WAY." Her +eyes met his, defiantly. + +"What's the difference? What's the difference?" She wrenched her wrist +quickly from him, and ran into the dressing tent laughing hysterically. + +"And I brung her back to it," mumbled Jim as he turned to give orders to +the property men. + +Most of the "first-half props" were loaded, and some of the men were +asleep under the wagons. The lot was clear. Suddenly he felt some one +approaching from the back of the enclosure. He turned and found himself +face to face with the stern, solitary figure of the pastor, wrapped +in his long, black cloak. The moonlight slipped through a rift in the +clouds, and fell in a circle around them. + +"What made you come here?" was all Jim said. + +"I heard that Miss Polly didn't ride to-day. I was afraid she might be +ill." + +"What's that to you?" + +"She ISN'T ill?" Douglas demanded anxiously, oblivious to the gruffness +in the big fellow's voice. + +"She's all right," Jim answered shortly as he shifted uneasily from one +foot to the other, and avoided the pastor's burning gaze. + +"And she's happy? she's content?" + +"Sure." + +"I'm glad," said Douglas, dully. He tried to think of some way to +prolong their talk. "I've never heard from her, you know." + +"Us folks don't get much time to write." Jim turned away and began +tinkering with one of the wagons. + +Douglas had walked up and down in front of the tents again and again, +fighting against a desire to do the very thing that he was doing, but +to no purpose, and now that he was here, it seemed impossible that he +should go away so unsatisfied. He crossed to Jim and came determinedly +to the point. + +"Can't I see her, Jim?" + +"It's agin the rules." He did not turn. + +There was another pause, then Douglas started slowly out of the lot. + +"Wait a minute," called Jim, as though the words had been wrung from +him. The pastor came back with a question in his eyes. + +"I lied to you." + +"She's NOT well, then?" + +"Oh, yes, she's well enough. It ain't that; it's about her being happy." + +"She isn't?" There was a note of unconscious exultation in his voice. + +"No. She AIN'T happy here, and she WAS happy WITH YOU." + +"Then, why did she leave me?" + +"I don't know. She wasn't goin' ter do it at first. Somethin' must +a-happened afterwards, somethin' that you an' me didn't know about." + +"We WILL know about it, Jim. Where is she?" His quick eye searched the +lot. His voice had regained it's old command. He felt that he could +conquer worlds. + +"You can't do no good that way," answered Jim. "She don't want ter see +you again." + +"Why not?" + +"I don't know, but she told me she'd run away if I ever even talked to +you about her." + +"You needn't talk, Jim; I'll talk for myself. Where is she?" + +"She'll be comin' out soon. You can wait around out here with me. I'll +let you know in time." He led the way through a narrow passage between +the wagons. + +Jim and Douglas had barely left the lot when Deacon Elverson's small, +round head slipped cautiously around the corner of the dressing tent. +The little deacon glanced exultantly about him. He was monarch of all he +surveyed. It was very thrilling to stand here, on this forbidden ground, +smelling the saw-dust, gazing at the big red wagons, studying the +unprotected circus properties, and listening to the lightening tempo of +the band. + +"Did you see him?" shouted Strong, who had followed closely upon +Elverson's heels. + +The little deacon started. Strong was certainly a disturbing factor at +times. + +"Yes, I--I saw him." + +"Well?" + +"He--he--didn't see HER." + +"What DID he do?" Strong was beside himself with impatience. + +"He--he just talked to the big 'un, and went out that way." Elverson +nodded toward the wagons. + +"I guess he ain't gone far," sneered Strong. "He come over to this lot +to see her, and he ain't goin' ter give up till he does it. You wait +here; I'll take a look round." He went quickly in the direction of the +wagons. + +Elverson needed no second invitation to wait. He was congratulating +himself upon his good fortune, when he all but collided with a flying +apparition, vanishing in the direction of the main tent. Sophisticated +eyes would have seen only a rather stout acrobat clad in pink tights; +but Elverson was not sophisticated, and he teetered after the flitting +angel, even unto the forbidden portals of the "big top." + +He was peeping through the curtains which had fallen behind her, and was +getting his first glimpse of the great, sawdust world beyond, when one +of the clowns dashed from the dressing tent on his way to the ring. + +The clown was late. He saw the limp coat tails of the deacon, who was +three-quarters in the tent. Here was a chance to make a funny entrance. +He grabbed the unsuspecting little man from the rear. The terrified +deacon struck out blindly in all directions, his black arms and legs +moving like centipede, but the clown held him firmly by the back and +thrust him, head foremost, into the tent. + +Strong returned almost immediately from his unsuccessful search for the +pastor. He looked about the lot for Elverson. + +"Hey, there, Elverson!" he called lustily. There was no response. + +"Now where's he got to," grumbled Strong. He disappeared quickly around +the corner of the dressing tent, resolved to keep a sharp lookout for +Douglas. + +Elverson was thrust from the tent soon after, spitting sawdust and +much discomfited by the laughing performers who followed him. His knees +almost gave way beneath him when Barker came out of the ring, snapping +his long, black whip. + +"Get out of here, you bloke!" roared Barker. And Elverson "got." + +No one had remembered to tell the groom that Polly was not to ride +to-night. So Bingo was brought out as usual, when their "turn" +approached. + +"Take him back, Tom," Polly called from the entrance, when she learned +that Bingo was waiting, "and bring Barbarian. I'm not going on to-night. +Eloise is going to ride in my place." + +This was the second time to-day that Bingo had been led away without +going into the ring. Something in his big, wondering eyes made Polly +follow him and apologise. He was very proud, was Bingo, and very +conscientious. He felt uneasy when he saw the other horses going to +their work without him. + +"Never mind, Bingo," she said, patting his great, arched neck, "we'll +show 'em to-morrow." He rubbed his satiny nose against her cheek. "We'll +make them SIT UP again. Barker says our act's no good--that I've let +down. But it's not YOUR fault, Bingo. I've not been fair to you. I'll +give you a chance to-morrow. You wait. He'll never say it again, Bingo! +Never again!" She watched him go out of the lot, and laughed a little as +he nipped the attendant on the arm. He was still irritated at not going +into the ring. + +Polly had nothing more to do to-night except to get into her street +clothes. The wagons would soon be moving away. For a moment she glanced +at the dark church steeple, then she turned to go inside the tent. A +deep, familiar voice stopped her. + +"Polly!" + +She turned quickly. She could not answer. Douglas came toward her. He +gazed at her in amazement. She drew her cape about her slightly clad +figure. She seemed older to him, more unapproachable with her hair +heaped high and sparkling with jewels. Her bodice of satin and lace +shimmered through the opening of her cape. The moonlight lent mystery +and indecision to her betinselled attire. The band was playing the +andante for the balancing act. + +She found strength at last to open her lips, but still no sound came +from them. She and the pastor looked at each other strangely, like +spirits newly met from far-apart worlds. She, too, thought her companion +changed. He was older, the circles beneath his eyes were deeper, the +look in their depths more grave. + +"We were such close neighbours to-day, I--I rather thought you'd call," +he stammered. He was uncertain what he was saying--it did not matter--he +was there with her. + +"When you're in a circus there isn't much time for calling." + +"That's why I've come to call on you." They might have been sheppherd +and sheppherdess on a May-day wooing, for the halting way in which their +words came. + +"You're all right?" he went on. "You're happy?" + +"Yes, very," she said. Her eyes were downcast. + +He did not believe her, the effort in her voice, her drawn, white face +belied her words. How COULD he get the truth from her? + +"Jim said you might not want to see me." + +She started. + +"Has Jim been talking to you?" + +"Yes, but I didn't let him stop me, for you told me the day you left +that you'd never change--toward me. Have you, Poll?" He studied her, +anxiously. + +"Why, no, of course not," she said, evasively. + +"And you'll be quite frank when I ask you something?" + +"Yes, of course." She was growing more and more uneasy. She glanced +about for a way of escape. + +"Why did you leave me as you did?" + +"I told you then." She tried to cross toward the dressing tent. + +He stepped quickly in front of her. + +"You aren't answering FRANKLY, and you aren't happy." + +She was growing desperate. She felt she must get away, anywhere, +anywhere. + +He seized her small wrists and forced her to look at him. + +"And _I_ am not happy without YOU, and I never, NEVER can be." The +floodgates were open, his eyes were aglow, he bent toward her eagerly. + +"Oh, you mustn't," she begged. "You MUSTN'T." + +"You've grown so close," he cried. "So close!" She struggled to be free. +He did not heed her. "You know--you must know what I mean." He drew her +toward him and forced her into his arms. "You're more precious to me +than all else on this earth." + +For the first time he saw the extreme pallor on her face. He felt her +growing limp and lifeless in his arms. A doubt crossed his mind. "If +I am wrong in thinking you feel as I do, if you honestly care for all +this," he glanced about at the tents, "more than for any life that I can +give you, I shan't interfere. You'll be going on your way in an hour. +I'll say good-bye and God bless you; but if you do care for me, Polly," +he was pleading now, "if you're NOT happy here--won't you come back to +me? Won't you, Polly?" + +She dared not meet his eyes, nor yet to send him away. She stood +irresolute. The voice of Deacon Strong answered for her. + +"So! You're HERE, are you?" + +"Yes, Deacon Strong, I'm here," answered the pastor, as he turned to +meet the accusing eyes of the deacon, who had come quickly from behind +the dressing tent. + +"As for you, miss," continued Strong, with an insolent nod toward Polly, +"I might have known how you'd keep your part of the bargain." + +"Bargain?" echoed Douglas. "What bargain?" + +"Oh, please, Deacon Strong, please. I didn't mean to see him, I didn't, +truly." She hardly knew what she was saying. + +"What bargain?" demanded Douglas sternly. + +"She told me that you and her wasn't ever goin' ter see each other +agin," roared Strong. "If I'd a-knowed she was goin' to keep on with +this kind o' thing, you wouldn't er got off so easy." + +"So! That's it!" cried Douglas. It was all clear to him now. He recalled +everything, her hysterical behaviour, her laughter, her tears. "It was +you who drove that child back to this." He glanced at Polly. The narrow +shoulders were bent forward. The nervous little fingers were clasping +and unclasping each other. Never before had she seemed so small and +helpless. + +"Oh, please, Mr. John, please! Don't make him any worse!" + +"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded. + +"It would have done no good," she sobbed. "Oh, why--why won't you leave +me alone?" + +"It would have done all the good in the world. What right had he to send +you back to this?" + +"I had every right," said Strong, stubbornly. + +"What?" cried Douglas. + +"It was my duty." + +"Your duty? Your narrow-minded bigotry!" + +"I don't allow no man to talk to me like that, not even my parson." + +"I'm NOT your parson any longer," declared Douglas. He faced Strong +squarely. He was master of his own affairs at last. Polly clung to him, +begging and beseeching. + +"Oh, Mr. John! Mr. John!" + +"What do you mean by that?" shouted Strong. + +"I mean that I stayed with you and your narrow-minded congregation +before, because I believed you needed me. But now this girl needs me +more. She needs me to protect her from just such injustice as yours." + +"You'd better be protectin' YOURSELF. That's my advice to you." + +"I can do that WITHOUT your advice." + +"Maybe you can find another church with that circus ridin' girl +a-hangin' 'round your neck." + +"He's right," cried Polly. "You couldn't." She clung to the pastor in +terrified entreaty. "You COULDN'T get another church. They'd never, +never forgive you. It's no use. You've got to let me go! you've GOT to!" + +"Listen, Polly." He drew her toward him. "God is greater than any church +or creed. There's work to be done EVERYWHERE--HIS work." + +"You'll soon find out about that," thundered Strong. + +"So I will," answered Douglas, with his head thrown high. "This child +has opened a new world to me; she has shown me a broader, deeper +humanity; she and I will find the way together." + +"It won't be an easy one, I'll promise you that." Strong turned to go. + +"I'm not looking for the easy way!" Douglas called after him, then he +turned to draw Polly's arm within his; but Polly had slipped from his +side to follow the deacon. + +"Oh, please, Deacon Strong, please!" she pleaded. "You won't go away +like that. He'll be all right if you'll only wait. I'm NOT coming back. +I'm not--honestly. I'm going on with the show, to-night, and I'm going +this time FOREVER." + +"You are going to stay here with me," cried Douglas. + +"No, no, Mr. John. I've made up my mind, and I won't be to blame for +your unhappiness." She faced him firmly now. "I don't belong to your +world, and I don't want to try any more. I'm what he called me--I'm a +circus riding girl. I was born in the circus, and I'll never change. +That's my work--riding, and it's yours to preach. You must do your work, +and I'LL do MINE." + +She started toward the ring. Eloise and Barbarian were already waiting +at the entrance. + +"Eloise!" She took one step toward her, then stopped at the sound of +Barker's voice. + +"Ladies and gentlemen," he called. "Although we are obliged to announce +that our star rider, Miss Polly, will not appear to-night, we offer +you in her place an able substitute, Mademoiselle Eloise, on her black, +untamed horse, Barbarian." + +Eloise put her hands on the horse's back to mount. + +"No! No!" cried Polly. + +The other girl turned in astonishment at the agony in her voice. + +"Polly!" + +"Wait, Eloise! I'M going to ride!" + +"You can't, not Barbarian! He don't know your turn." + +"So much the better!" She seized the bridle from the frightened girl's +hand. + +"Polly!" shouted Douglas. He had followed her to the entrance. + +"I must! I will!" + +She flew into the ring before he could stop her. He took one step to +follow her. + +"You'd better let her alone and get out o' here," said Strong. His voice +was like a firebrand to Douglas. He turned upon him, white with rage. + +"You drove her to this." His fists were clenched. He drew back to +strike. + +Jim came from behind the wagons just in time to catch the uplifted arm. + +"Leave HIM to ME, this ain't no parson's job." The pastor lowered his +arm, but kept his threatening eyes on the deacon's face. + +"Where's Poll?" asked Jim. + +"In there! Douglas pointed toward the main tent without turning his +head. He was still glaring at the deacon, and breathing hard. + +"What?" cried Jim, in alarm. He faced about and saw Eloise. He guessed +the truth. A few quick strides brought him to the entrance curtains. He +threw them back and looked into the ring. + +"My God! Why don't Barker stop her?" + +"What is it?" called Douglas. He forgot the deacon in his terror at +Jim's behaviour, and Strong was able to slip away, unnoticed. + +"She's goin' ter ride! She's goin' ter ride Barbarian!" + +Douglas crossed to his side and looked. + +Polly was springing onto the back of Barbarian. He was a poorly trained +horse, used by the other girl for more showy, but less dangerous feats +than Polly's. + +"She's goin' through her regular turn with him, she's tryin' ter break +her neck," said Jim. "She wants ter do it. It's your fault!" he cried, +turning upon Douglas with bloodshot eyes. He was half insane, he cared +little whom he wounded. + +"Why can't we stop her?" cried Douglas, unable to endure the strain. He +took one step inside the entrance. + +"No, no; not that!" Jim dragged him back roughly. "If she sees you now, +it will be the end." They watched in silence. "She's over the first +part," Jim whispered, at last. + +Douglas drew back, his muscles tense, as he watched the scene inside +the ring. Eloise stood at the pastor's side, horror-stricken at Polly's +reckless behaviour. She knew Barbarian. It was easy to guess the end. + +"She's comin' to the hoops," Jim whispered, hoarsely. + +"Barbarian don't know that part, I never trained him," the other girl +said. + +Polly made the first leap toward the hoops. The horse was not at fault; +it was Polly. She plunged wildly, the audience started. She caught her +footing with an effort. One, two, three hoops were passed. She threw +herself across the back of the horse and hung, head downward, as he +galloped around the ring. The band was playing loudly, the people were +cheering. She rose to meet the last two hoops. + +"She's swayin'," Jim shrieked in agony. "She's goin' to fall." He covered +his face with his hands. + +Polly reeled and fell at the horse's side. She mounted and fell again. +She rose and staggered in pursuit. + +"I can't bear it," groaned Douglas. He rushed into the ring, unconscious +of the thousands of eyes bent upon his black, ministerial garb, and +caught the slip of a girl in his arms just as she was about to sink +fainting beneath the horse's hoofs. + +Barker brought the performance to a halt with a crack of his whip. The +audience stood on tiptoe. White-faced clowns and gaily attired acrobats +crowded around Polly and the pastor. + +Douglas did not see them. He had come into his own. + +"He's bringin' her out," whispered Eloise, who still watched at the +entrance. Jim dared not look up, his head was still in his hands. + +"Is it over?" he groaned. + +"I don't know. I can't tell yet." She stepped aside as Douglas came out +of the tent, followed by a swarm of performers. He knelt on the soft +grass and rested Polly's head upon his knee. The others pressed about +them. It seemed to Douglas that he waited hours; then her white lids +quivered and opened and the colour crept back to her lips. + +"It's all right, Jim!" called one of the men from the crowd. "She's only +fainted." The big fellow had waited in his tracks for the verdict. + +Polly's eyes looked up into those of the parson--a thrill shot through +his veins. + +"It was no use, was it?" She shook her head with a sad little smile. He +knew that she was thinking of her failure to get out of his way. + +"That's because I need you so much, Polly, that God won't let you go +away from me." He drew her nearer to him, and the warm blood that shot +to her cheeks brought back her strength. She rose unsteadily, and looked +about her. Jim came toward her, white and trembling. + +"All right, Poll?" + +"Oh, Muvver Jim!" She threw herself into his arms and clung to him, +sobbing weakly. + +No one could ever remember just how the audience left the big top that +night, and even Barker had no clear idea of how Jim took down the tents, +loaded the great wagons, and sent the caravan on its way. + +When the last wagon was beginning to climb the long, winding road of +the moon-lit hill, Jim turned to Polly, who stood near the side of the +deserted ring. His eyes travelled from her to the parson, who waited +near her. She was in her street clothes now, the little brown Quakerish +dress which she had chosen to wear so much since her return from the +parsonage. + +"I guess I won't be makin' no mistake this time," he said, and he placed +her hand in that of the parson. + +"Good-bye, Muvver Jim," faltered Polly. + +He stooped and touched her forehead with his lips. A mother's spirit +breathed through his kiss. + +"I'm glad it's like this," he said, then turned away and followed the +long, dotted line of winding lights disappearing slowly over the hill. + +Her eyes travelled after him. + +Douglas touched the cold, little hand at her side. + +"I belong with them," she said, still gazing after Jim and the wagons. + +"You belong with me," he answered in a firm, grave voice, and something +in the deep, sure tones told her that he was speaking the truth. She +lifted one trembling hand to his shoulder, and looked up into his face. + +"Whither thou goest, will I go, where thou diest, will I die." + +He drew her into his arms. + +"The Lord do so to me and more also, if aught but death part thee and +me." + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Polly of the Circus, by Margaret Mayo + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POLLY OF THE CIRCUS *** + +***** This file should be named 859.txt or 859.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/5/859/ + +Produced by Charles Keller + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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