It was night when they entered the town. They were already a weary pair when the far sounds of the brass band of the menagerie, mostly made up of attendants on the animals, first entered their ears. The marketing was over; the band was issuing its last invitation to the merry-makers to walk up and see strange sights; its notes were just dying to their close, when the wayfarers arrived at the foot of the steps leading to the platform where the musicians stood. Clare ascended, and Abdiel crept after him. At a table in a small curtained recess on the platform, sat the mistress to receive the money of those that entered. Clare laid his sovereign before her. She took it up without looking at him, but at it she looked doubtfully. She threw it on her table. It would not ring. She bit it with her white teeth, and looked at it again; then at length gave a glance at the person who offered it. Her dull lamp flickered in the puffs of the night-wind, and she did not recognize Clare. She saw but a white-faced, ragged boy, and threw him back his sovereign. “Won’t pass,” she said with decision, not unmingled with contempt. She sat at the receipt of money, where too many men and women cease to be ladies and gentlemen. Clare did not at first understand. He stood motionless and, for the second time that day, bewildered. How could money be no money? “Ain’t you got sixpence?” she asked. “No, ma’am,” answered Clare. “I haven’t had sixpence for many a day.” The moment he spoke, the woman looked him sharply in the face, and knew him. “Drat my stupid eyes!” she said fervently. “That I shouldn’t ha’ known you! Walk in, walk in. Go where you please, and do as you please. You’re right welcome.--Where did you get that sov.?” “From Farmer Goodenough.” “Good enough, I hope, not to take advantage of an innocent prince! Was it for taking home the bull?” “No, ma’am. I didn’t take the bull home. The bull took me to the old home where we used to be together. He didn’t want a new one!” “Well, never mind now. Give me the sovereign. I’ll talk to you by and by. Go in, or the show ’ill be over. Look after your dog, though. We don’t like dogs. He mustn’t go in.” “I’ll send him right outside, if you wish it, ma’am.” “I do.--But will he stay out?” “He will, ma’am.” Clare took up Abdiel, and setting him at the top of the steps, told him to go down and wait. Abdiel went hopping down, like a dirty little white cataract out on its own hook, turned in under the steps, and deposited himself there until his master should call him. Chapter XLV. THE MENAGERIE.