"I want to ask you a favor, Anak," said Robert, slyly: "Speak a little Norwegian; I want to know how it sounds." "Oh go away with you! I don't know any more Norwegian than you do." "How is that? You don't mean to say you've forgotten your native language?" "I never knew a bit of Norwegian, Rob, my boy; and as for native language, I'm minded to tell you a secret." "Go ahead!" "I was born in Tipperary, and they didn't use to speak Norwegian there when I was a boy." "Then why do they call you a Norwegian?" "It sounds better than Irish, you see." "But haven't you ever been caught? Didn't you ever have a Norwegian come up and try to talk to you in his own language?" "Yes," said Anak, laughing, "and mighty embarrassing it was, too." "What did you do?" "Faith, I opened upon him in old Irish. You ought to have seen the fellow stare. I shrugged my shoulders, and said I, 'You speak bad Norwegian,' and the crowd believed me. He slunk away, and that's the way I got over that." "What's your real name, Anak?" Anak looked about him guardedly, and finding that no one was within earshot, he answered, "Tom O'Connor, but don't give me away, Robert!" "I don't believe I could, Anak," said the boy, laughing. Anak joined in the laugh, and Robert continued, "When did you get your growth? I mean, how old were you?" "I kept on growing till I was twenty-one. When I was sixteen I was six feet high, and everybody thought I was through, but I kept on till I reached seven and a half feet, and then was tall enough to show." "How about that eight feet, Anak?" "You must ask the manager. They always make giants taller than they are. It's equal all round, and nobody's hurt. And now, Robert, I'm going to ask you a question." "What is it, Anak?" "Do you expect always to be in this business?" "Bareback riding, you mean? No, I hope not," said the boy, gravely. "I hope not, too. It'll do for a time, and there isn't anything else open to a big overgrown fellow like me, but you are a smart boy, and there are plenty of chances for you to get into something else. You never told me about when you were a little boy; can you remember as far back?" "Not much," answered the boy, soberly. "Sometimes I seem to remember a fine house and grounds, and it seems as if I were riding on a beautiful lawn, on a pony, with a servant at my side. But it is provoking that I can't remember any more, and the whole seems dim, and melts away, and it may be all imagination, after all." "It may be all true, Robert. Was it in America, do you think, now?" "That is more than I can tell. It may be all fancy." "Have you any relations living?" "Not that I know of," said the boy sadly; "I wish I had. I feel very lonely sometimes, and there doesn't seem much to live for." "You've plenty of friends, Rob—all of us like you." "Yes, you all treat me well." "You have always been a favorite in the circus, my lad."