The first part of the plan was carried out. We crossed the meadow stealthily, creeping a greater part of the way on our hands and knees. Once in a while, when this got tiresome, we would rise and walk in the normal fashion, which was probably just as safe, for there was no one within half a mile. As we slunk by the rear of the barn we came suddenly on Mr. Bartlett and his man, Foley. There was no time to run. Mr. Bartlett addressed us genially. "Hullo, boys! Want to see something? Look in this box. Peacocks' eggs--white peacocks, too. Very rare. We're going to set them under that peahen in the orchard. I suppose she's there all right, Foley?" "Yis, sorr. She was at foive o'clock this marning, sorr. Oi give her four ducks' eggs to kape her continted-loike." "All right, then. Come on, boys. We'll see how she's getting on. We'll have to set a guard around her while she hatches these out. They're too valuable to risk. Do you suppose she'd stand for it if we put up a little tent around her, Foley? Big nuisance she won't set in some convenient place." Mr. Bartlett and Foley walked on ahead, discussing ways and means for protecting the peahen against marauders. We followed, a dozen steps behind. The shadow of the dungeon fell no longer upon our path, and there was no necessity for joining the circus. We did not admit it to each other, but we felt it to be a happy release. In a moment we heard Foley's voice. "Here she is, sorr. An' settin' on nothin' again. Phwhere's thim ducks' eggs gone, Oi dunno. Somebody's shtole thim, fir the birrd niver ate thim, shills an' all. 'Twill niver do to lave thim ixpinsive eggs here, sorr!" Jimmy Toppan and I maintained expressions of innocent wonder. CHAPTER X THE FLIGHT The day before the circus found me at home again. Without delay I set out to find Ed Mason, Charley Carter, and any of the others who could give me the latest information on the topic that absorbed us all. For, since the Fourth of July, there had been nothing so important as the approach of this circus. For two weeks we had studied the posters. Whether the hippopotamus would in very truth have a mouth somewhat larger than the door of the barn to which his portrait was affixed; whether the head of the giraffe would actually soar above the clouds, as represented; and whether a beautiful lady would indeed stand on the tip of an elephant's trunk and airily juggle three baby lions and a Japanese parasol--these problems had vexed us for fourteen long days. Charley Carter stuck out for the literal accuracy of the posters. "'Cos if it wasn't so, they wouldn't dare to print 'em--it's against the law." This was his argument. Truth to say, none of us were strongly inclined to oppose him. We were more than willing to accept the pictures as photographic. This point decided without further discussion, we could devote our meditations to the circus itself. We could lay our plans and dream our dreams in all felicity.