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.