"What is it, Jim? The pretty lady on the horse an' the other one up on the swing thing without--without any skirt to her, and the man with the funny pants an' the big hat that's shootin'----" "There must be a circus in Highvale--yes, the date says to-night," Jim replied. "'Trimble & Wells Great Circus & Sideshow,'" she read slowly. "I heard about them circuses; some of the children seen them before they came to--to where I was, an' once one come to town an' sent free tickets to us, but the deaconesses said it was sinful an' so we couldn't go. It don't look sinful to me; it looks just grand--grand!" She could have stood for an hour drinking in all the wonders of the poster, but Jim hurried her on although he was filled with sympathy. Poor little kid! What a rotten, black sort of life she must have had, and how he wished that he might take her to this tawdry, cheap affair and watch her naive enjoyment. But their combined capital would not have covered the price of the tickets, and there was supper to be thought of, and the hazards of the immediate future. For the present the circus must remain an unattained dream to Lou. The steep little hill down to the village seemed very long, and twilight was almost upon them when they came to a big, open lot upon which a circular tent was in process of erection, with lesser oblong ones clustered at one side. A fringe of small boys and village loungers lined the roadway watching the corps of men who were working like beavers within the lot, urged on by a bawling, cursing voice which seemed to proceed from a stout, choleric man who bounded about, alternately waving his arms and cupping his hands to improvise a megaphone. Jim was tired, and his side throbbed dully, but a sudden inspiration came to him, and he drew Lou over to the other side of the road. "Sit down here and wait for me," he told her. "I won't be long. That's where the circus is going to be, and perhaps I can fix it for you to see it." Turning, he shouldered his way through the knot of loungers, and entering the lot, approached the stout gentleman. "Want an extra hand?" he asked. "Anything from a ballyhoo to a rough-rider?" The stout man wheeled and surveyed him in momentarily speechless wrath at the interruption. Then his eyes narrowed appraisingly as he noted the tall, lean, well-knit figure before him, and he demanded: "How the h--l did you know that the Wild West act was all knocked to pieces?" "It isn't now," Jim smiled. "Lend me a horse and a pair of chaps, and I'll show you in five minutes what's going to be your star act to-night." "You're no circus man, nor a Westerner, neither." The boss still stared. "And you don't look like a bum. What's your game, anyway?" "To pick up a little loose change and get a horse between my knees again." The thought of the forlorn little figure which he had left by the roadside kept Jim's smile steady, and added a desperate artificial buoyancy to his tired tones: