Jim and Douglas had barely left the lot when Deacon Elverson's small, round head slipped cautiously around the corner of the dressing tent. The little deacon glanced exultantly about him. He was monarch of all he surveyed. It was very thrilling to stand here, on this forbidden ground, smelling the saw-dust, gazing at the big red wagons, studying the unprotected circus properties, and listening to the lightening tempo of the band. “Did you see him?” shouted Strong, who had followed closely upon Elverson's heels. The little deacon started. Strong was certainly a disturbing factor at times. “Yes, I--I saw him.” “Well?” “He--he--didn't see HER.” “What DID he do?” Strong was beside himself with impatience. “He--he just talked to the big 'un, and went out that way.” Elverson nodded toward the wagons. “I guess he ain't gone far,” sneered Strong. “He come over to this lot to see her, and he ain't goin' ter give up till he does it. You wait here; I'll take a look round.” He went quickly in the direction of the wagons. Elverson needed no second invitation to wait. He was congratulating himself upon his good fortune, when he all but collided with a flying apparition, vanishing in the direction of the main tent. Sophisticated eyes would have seen only a rather stout acrobat clad in pink tights; but Elverson was not sophisticated, and he teetered after the flitting angel, even unto the forbidden portals of the “big top.” He was peeping through the curtains which had fallen behind her, and was getting his first glimpse of the great, sawdust world beyond, when one of the clowns dashed from the dressing tent on his way to the ring. The clown was late. He saw the limp coat tails of the deacon, who was three-quarters in the tent. Here was a chance to make a funny entrance. He grabbed the unsuspecting little man from the rear. The terrified deacon struck out blindly in all directions, his black arms and legs moving like centipede, but the clown held him firmly by the back and thrust him, head foremost, into the tent. Strong returned almost immediately from his unsuccessful search for the pastor. He looked about the lot for Elverson. “Hey, there, Elverson!” he called lustily. There was no response. “Now where's he got to,” grumbled Strong. He disappeared quickly around the corner of the dressing tent, resolved to keep a sharp lookout for Douglas. Elverson was thrust from the tent soon after, spitting sawdust and much discomfited by the laughing performers who followed him. His knees almost gave way beneath him when Barker came out of the ring, snapping his long, black whip. “Get out of here, you bloke!” roared Barker. And Elverson “got.” No one had remembered to tell the groom that Polly was not to ride to-night. So Bingo was brought out as usual, when their “turn” approached.