I have no intention in continuing as a circus performer, though I am very liberally paid. It is too soon for me to decide upon my future course, but you may tell Mr. Bickford he need not wait for me to resume my place in his shop. I do not know when I shall see you or Ralph again, but you need have no fear that I shall appeal to your generosity. Your nephew, CHRISTOPHER WATSON. Stephen Watson read this letter with surprise and chagrin. He was sorry to hear that Kit was doing so well, and alarmed at his implied doubt whether he had really been left destitute by his father. "That boy is going to give me trouble," he muttered. CHAPTER XXV. THE ATTACK ON THE CIRCUS TENT. Four weeks passed, in which Kit continued to acquit himself to the satisfaction of the manager. His youth and pleasant face, added to his uncommon skill, made him a favorite with the public, and being a boy with a love of adventure he enjoyed thoroughly the constant variety of circus life and travel. All circus existence is not sunshine, however. There are communities which are always dreaded by circus managers, on account of the rough and lawless element which dominates them. Early one morning Barlow's circus arrived at the mining town of Coalville (as we will call it), in Pennsylvania. An afternoon performance was given, and passed off smoothly; but in the evening a gang of about twenty miners made their appearance, bent on mischief. Mr. Clark, the manager, sought Mr. Barlow. "I think we shall have trouble this evening, Mr. Barlow," he said. "Guard against it, then. What indications have you seen?" "A gang of twenty miners have just entered the lot. They look ugly." "Have the canvas men on guard, and summon the razorbacks, if necessary. Don't provoke a conflict, but be ready for one." Mr. Clark hastily made his arrangements as quietly as possible. Near the ticket seller lounged a body of men, strong and muscular. These were the canvas men. Some of them looked as reckless and dangerous as the miners, from whom a disturbance was feared. These canvas men, whose duty it is to set up and take down the tents, are, for the most part, a rough set. They are paid from fifteen to twenty dollars a month and board. Their accommodations are very poor, but as good perhaps as they are accustomed to. They are not averse to a scrimmage, and obeyed with alacrity the directions of Mr. Clark. The body of miners marched in procession to the ticket seller and then halted, one serving as spokesman. "Give us twenty tickets, boss," said the leader. "Where is your money?" asked the ticket seller, cautiously. "Never you mind! We're on the free list, ain't we, boys?" "Yes, we are!" was the chorus from his followers. "There are no deadheads admitted to the show," said the ticket agent, firmly.