"Who's that?" whispered Sarah, wondering why anyone should want to sleep with a handkerchief over his face. "That's Mr. Robinson, dearie," replied Mrs. King, her swift fingers never pausing in their work. "He's advance agent for the circus." Sarah sat up with a jerk. "Does he own the circus?" she asked eagerly. "Bless you, no," said Mrs. King smiling, "he doesn't own it, though he has a good deal to do with it, in one way or another. He comes every year to see that the posters are put up and to arrange for space for the tents and some extra help, if it's needed. He goes around to all the towns, ahead of the circus, you see, and tells folks it is coming; and in the winter he does considerable buying of animals and whatnot and hiring of performers, they tell me." Sarah stared at the silk handkerchief in spellbound fascination. One more question struggled for utterance. "What is whatnot?" she demanded, her eyes still on the fat man asleep in his chair. "Whatnot?"--Mrs. King was puzzled. "You said he bought whatnot for the circus." "My land alive, didn't you ever hear of whatnot? It doesn't mean a thing--it's just a phrase," poor Mrs. King protested. "I meant Mr. Robinson buys little tricks and novelties and small side-show stuff like that." Sarah nodded absently, though she had no very clear idea of the good lady's meaning even then. When Mrs. King went away presently, murmuring that it was time to put the peas on to cook, Sarah sat quietly in her chair, her gaze riveted to the silk handkerchief. Suddenly, as she watched, a large and noisy fly also discovered the handkerchief. He decided to investigate, experience probably having taught him that handkerchiefs may be used to conceal a set of sensitive features. Cautiously he alighted and began to crawl--swat! the stout gentleman slapped sleepily, narrowly missing the tormentor. Up rose Sarah and bore down upon the scene. "Don't swat him!" she begged. "He won't hurt you--flies only tickle. Anyway, if you'd use a palm leaf fan, no flies would ever bother you." The circus agent snatched the handkerchief from his face and sat up in astonishment, revealing a very kindly, very good-humored face fringed with white hair and lighted by a pair of twinkling eyes. "Bless me!" he cried when he saw the determined small girl. "What's all this?" "The fly!" explained Sarah seriously. "You tried to kill him. And he doesn't even bite." "Well, I may have been hasty," apologized Mr. Robinson, his eyes twinkling more than ever. "I don't always think when I am half asleep." Sarah's mind was already running on what she wanted to say to him. She was more direct by nature than tactful as her next remark showed. "You're a circus man, aren't you?" she said, making it more a statement of fact than a question. "I'm advance agent, yes," Mr. Robinson admitted. He was totally unprepared for the next query. "Then," said Sarah gravely, "wouldn't you like to buy a very fine pig?"