“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.”