He had been in the town with grandpapa when the miserable procession had gone by to a hollow merriment of drums and cymbals, and had listened to grandpapa’s angry condemnation of a civilization that permitted such barbarities to exist. The sight of those scared, half-starved, professional brothers of Pouncer had in fact quite extinguished Grif’s own enthusiasm for the circus, and he had suggested, as an immediate remedy, that grandpapa should buy up all the quadrupedal members of it, and establish them in comfort at the Glebe for the rest of their lives. “It’s all very well for you not to want to go,” Jim pointed out indignantly. “You’ve seen it already――at least, you’ve seen some of it.” Grif admitted that he had, while Edward and Palmer conversed in undertones. “Perhaps they’ll stay over the week-end,” suggested the optimistic Ann, “and then we’ll be able to see them in church.” This remark was received with derision, and poor Ann retired from the council feeling hurt, for, after all, she wanted to go to the circus quite as much as any of the boys. Thus it came and passed, Johnnie’s mixed and meagre description of them being the only glimpse they were vouchsafed of its mysterious glories. There had been songs and riding and the performing dogs and a kind of Wild West play with a lot of firing off of guns, but it hadn’t been much good, and the sick monkey had failed to get through its tricks even when stimulated by a whip. Some of the spectators had expressed their dissatisfaction openly at the second performance, and the show was moving on that day, Johnnie said, probably to the next town. This was Johnnie’s report, and Grif had forgotten all about it when, on coming out on to the croquet-lawn after dinner, he found Ann there alone and in tears. “What’s up?” he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Where is everybody?” “They’ve gone to see the circus off,” said Ann, wiping her eyes. “And they promised before dinner I might come, and then they said I mightn’t, because they would maybe have to run to catch up with it.” Ann could pour out her troubles to Grif, though she would never have dreamed of doing so to her other brothers or to Barbara. But Grif was different from them; he was somehow always nicest when other people weren’t nice at all. Every one knew that――even Jim, who had rarely any troubles that could not be cured by a few minutes’ passionate brawling with the Fates. “Is Barbara with them?” Grif asked consolingly. “No; she says circuses are vulgar: she’s going to pay visits with Aunt Caroline.” “Well, let’s play a game of something.” “It’s too hot,” said Ann, whose heart was with Palmer and Edward and Jim, racing along a dusty road in pursuit of fugitive mountebanks. “We’ll play jacks, if you like; it’s not too hot for that. Or I’ll read you the _Arabian Nights_. I’m in the middle of a story, but I can tell you the beginning.”