3Y MARGARET MAYO
COP. RIGHT, 1993, BY.DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
‘ Amiiftious canvasmen and groom-
were exercising, feet in air, in the |
hope of some day getting into the per-
formers’ ring. Property men stole o
mi ute's sleep in the soft warm grass |
while they waited for more tackle to
lor! in the wagons.
pe: ‘ormers were swinging on the tent
rcjoon Chattering monkeys sat astride
the Shetland ponies, awaiting their en-
trance to the ring. The shrieks of the
hyenas in the distant animal tent, the |
ronring of the lions and the trumpet
ing of the clephants mingled with th
incessant clamor of the band. An
back of all this, pointing upward in
mute protest, rose a solemn church
snire, : white and majestic against a
vast ‘panorama of blue, moonlit hills |
that encircled the whole lurid picture
Jim's eyes turned absently toward th |
church as he sat fumbling with (Le
lock of the little brown satchel. i
He had gone from store to store in
the various towns where they had
played looking for something to in.
spire “wonder in the heart of a mi
newly arrived at her sixteenth year.
Only the desperation of a last momen:
had forced him to decide upon the imi
tation alligator bag, which he now
he'd in his hand. |
1% looked small and mean to him as |
the moment of presentation approach-
ed. and he was glad that the saleswo-
man in the little country store had -
snggested the addition of ribbons and
1.:e8, which he now drew from the
pocket of his corduroys. He placed
his red and blue treasures very care-|
fully in the bottom of the satchel and |
remembered with regret the strand «f |
coral beads which he had so nearly
bought to :
with them
f
' POLLY DANCED SERENELY
Children of the |
t
drawl,
“them's a funny lot of guys
i 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.”
“\fember the time you took me into
| one of them places to get me outs the
rain, the Sunday our wagon broke
| down? Well, that bunch we butted
| into wouldn't 'a’ give Sells Bros. no
| cause for worry with that show a’
theirn, would they, Jim?" She looked
‘at him with withering disgust. “Say,
| ywvasn't that the punkiest stunt that
| fellow in black was doin’ on the plat-
! form? You said Joe was only ten min-
| utes gettin' the tire on to 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 he better than “that un,” but
Polly said he could have her end of
the bet and summed up by declaring
it po wonder that “the yaps in these
towns is daffy about circuses if they
don’t have nothin’ better 'an church
shows to go to.”
One of the grooms was entering the
Jot 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 faint-
ness in the parade that morning.
“You ain't feelin’ right,” he said un-
“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
ON BINGO'S BACK.
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 fine and more useful than his.
It was only when the “leap of death”
act preceding Polly's turn was an-
nounced that the big fellow gave up
feasting his eyes on the satchel and
of the night's performance.
Jim put down the lid of the trunk
and sat upon it, feeling like a criminal
becavse he was hiding something
from Polly.
His consciousness of guilt was in-
creased as he recalled how often she
forbidden Toby snd himself to
disobeyed her. It would be a great re-
lief when tonight's ordeal was over.
Jim watched Polly uneasily as she
came from the dressing tent and stop-
ped to gaze at the nearby church stee-
ple. 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 sald, with a western
affectionateiy 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 elsc ever done ’'em, an’ no-
body ’'d miss 'em if you left ‘em out.”
Polly turned with a triumphant ring
fn 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 turn-
ed away, still seeing the flash in the
departing girl's eyes.
CHAPTER IIL
OLLY and Bingo slways made
the audience “sit up” when
they swept into the ring. She
was so young, so gayly clad, so
light and joyous in all her poses. She
eeemed 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.
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 fulfill its ambition in
the body that once held it, for it some-
i eanght the puzzled look in the doctor's
| the heart.
times played strange pranks with Pol-
ly. Tonight her eyes shone and her
lips were parted in anticipation as she
leaped lightly over the many colored
streamers of the wheel of silken rib-
bons held by Barker in the center of
the ring and by Toby and the tum-
blers on the edge of the bank.
With each change of her act the au-
dlence cheered aud frantically appiaud-
ed. The band played faster; Bingo's
pace increased; the end of her turn
was coming. The tumblers arranged
themselves around the ring with pa-
per hoops. Bingo was fairly racing.
Siie went through the first hoop with
a crash of tearing paper.
“Heigh, Bingo!” she shouted as she
bent her knees to make ready for the
final leap.
Bingzo'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
eves to glance at the oncoming girl
The hoop shifted slightly in his clum-
sy hand as Polly leaped straight up
from Bingo's back, trusting to her first
ealenlation. 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 ironbound stake at
the edge of the ring.
Everything stopped. There was a
gasp of horror. The musicians drop-
ped their instruments. Bingo halted
and looked back uneasily. She lay
unconscious nid seemingly lifeless.
A great ery went up in the tent.
Panic stricken men, women and chil
dren began to clamber down from their
seats, while others nearest the ground
attempted to jump into the ring. Bar
ker, still grasping his long whip,
rushed to the girl's side and shouted
wildly to Toby:
“Say something, you. Get ‘em back!”
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“That's enough
Old Toby turned his white face to
the crowd. His features worked con-
vulsively, but he conld not speak. Ili:
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
ery of the audience. He lifted the
Hmp 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. i
“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
“Well, sir?’ Jim faltered, for he had
eyes as his deft hand pressed the cru-
elly wounded head.
“I can't tell just yet.” said the doc-
tor. “She must be taken away.”
“Where can we take her?’ asked
Jim, a look of terror in his great, trou-
bled 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 center 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 thrill-
ing chariot race.
Jim, blind with despair, lifted the
light burden and staggered out of the
tent, while the band played furious)
and the people fell back into their
seats. The Roman chariots thundered
and clattered around the outside of
the ring. the andience cheered the win:
ner of the race, and for the moment
Polly was forgotten,
rr
dy Jones all afternoon and
evening, Again and again it
had dragged her from her work to the
study window, from which she couid
see the wonders so tantalizingly near
Mandy was housekeeper for the Rev.
John Douglas, but the unwashed sup-
per dishes did n4t trouble her as she
watched the lumiering 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 deri-
sion, and the name had clung to him.
The sarcasm seemed doubly appropri-
ate tonight, for he had been away
since 10 that morning, and it was now
past 9,
The young pastor for a time had en-
joyed Mandy's tirades against her hus-
band, but when she began calling
shrilly out of the window to chance
acquaintances for news of him he slip-
ped quietly into the next room to fin-
ish tomorrow's sermon. Mandy renew-
ed her operations at the window with
increased vigor when the pastor had
gone. She was barely saved from
pitching headforemost 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 st the pretty, young, apple
faced Julia. “I was suah most gone
dat time.” Then followed another out:
burst against the delinquent Hasty,
But the deacon's daughter did not
hear. Her eyes were already wander
ing anxiously to the lights and the tin-
gel of the little world beyond the win-
dow.
This was not the first time today
that Mandy had found herself talking
to space. There had been a steady
stream of callers at the parsonage
ian
CHAPTER 1V.
ITE blare of the circus band had
been a sore temptation to Man-
em ——
for this trip.”
RS
—
“Most everybody has got some kind of a
Lug,” Jim assented.
since 11 that morning, but she ua:
long ago confided to the pastor that!
she suspected their reasons.
“Dey comes in here a-trackin’ up my
floors,” she sald, “an’ a-askin’ why
you don't stop de circus from a-show-
in’ nex’ to de church an’ den a-cranin’
dar necks out de winder till I can't
get no housework done.”
“That's only human nature,” Doug-
las had answered, with a laugh, but
Mandy had declared that she knew an-
other 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 inclina-
tions, she gazed at Julia now. The
shining eyes of the deacon’s daughter
conquered, und she launched forth int.
an eager description of how she hal
just seen a “wonde'ful striped ana.
mule” 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 of h!
insides.” Mandy was so carried awa;
by her own eloquence and so busy
showing Julia the sights beyond the
window that she did not hear Mis:
Perkins, the thin lipped spinster, whn
entered, followed by the Widow Wii
loughby, dragging her seven-year-ol.
son Willie by the hand.
The women were protesting becaus:
their choir practice of “What Shall th
Harvest Be?’ had been interrupted by
1
| ped.
| ate attitude for a widow.
the unrequested accompaniment of the
| “hoochee coochee” from the nearby cir
cus band.
“It's scandalous!” Miss Perkins snap:
“Scandalous! And somebod;:
ought to step it.” She glanced about
with an unmistakable alr 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 sou!
abominated.
“Well, I'm sure I've done all that |
could,” piped the widow, with a meek
martyred air, She was always wan
¢yred. She considered it an appropri
“He can"
blame me if the choir is out of key to
morrow.”
“Mercy me!” interrupted the spinster
“If there isn't Julia Strong a-leanin;
right out of that window a-looking at
the circus, and her pa a deacon of the
church, and this the house of the pas-
tor! 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 to-
ward 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 dis-
cussing theology with them, but Doug-
las had been either unconscious of or
indifferent to thelr resentment and
had gone on his way with a cheery nod
and an unconquerable conviction of
right that had only left them flounder-
ing. 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 entire-
ly discontinued.” declared Miss Per-
kins sourly as she accepted the prof-
fered chair, adjusted her skirts for a
stay and glanced defiantly at the par-
son, 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 1 defy any one
to lead ‘What Shall the Harvest Be?
10 an accompaniment like that.” She
jerked her hand in the direction of the
window. The band was again playing
the “hoochee coochee.”
“Never mind about the choir prac-
tice,” said Douglas, with a smile. “I
is soul, not skill, that our congregation
needs in its music. As for that music
out there, it is not without its compen:
sations. 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 grownups 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 ech-
oed in one breath. “Did you see the
parade?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Douglas enthusi-
astically. “Bat it didn’t compare with
the one 1 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?’ Wil-
lie asked eagerly.
“l didn't have enough money for
that,” Douglas answered frankly. He
turned to the small boy and pinched
his ear. There was sad disappoint-
ment in the youngster's face, but he
brightened again when the parson con-
fessed that he “peeped.”
“A parson peeping!" cried the thin
lipped Miss Perkins.
“I was not a parson then,” corrected
Douglas goud naturedly.
“You were going to be,” persisted
the spinster.
“I had to be a boy first in spite 0
that fact.”
The sudden appearance of Hast)
proved a diversion. He was looking
very sheepish.
“Hyar he is, Mars John; look at
him!” said Mandy.
“Hasty, where have you been al
day?" demanded Douglas severely
[To be Continued.l™ ~~