All the monkeys chattered; and Toby, believing that everything which he had said had been understood by the animals, went out of the door to meet his other taskmaster. VI. A TENDER HEARTED SKELETON “Now, then, lazybones,” was Mr. Lord's warning cry as Toby came out of the tent, “if you've fooled away enough of your time, you can come here an' tend shop for me while I go to supper. You crammed yourself this noon, an' it 'll teach you a good lesson to make you go without anything to eat tonight; it 'll make you move round more lively in future.” Instead of becoming accustomed to such treatment as he was receiving from his employers, Toby's heart grew more tender with each brutal word, and this last punishment--that of losing his supper--caused the poor boy more sorrow than blows would. Mr. Lord started for the hotel as he concluded his cruel speech; and poor little Toby, going behind the counter, leaned his head upon the rough boards and cried as if his heart would break. All the fancied brightness and pleasure of a circus life had vanished, and in its place was the bitterness of remorse that he had repaid Uncle Daniel's kindness by the ingratitude of running away. Toby thought that if he could only nestle his little red head on the pillows of his little bed in that rough room at Uncle Daniel's, he would be the happiest and best boy, in the future, in all the great wide world. While he was still sobbing away at a most furious rate he heard a voice close at his elbow, and, looking up, saw the thinnest man he had ever seen in all his life. The man had flesh colored tights on, and a spangled red velvet garment--that was neither pants, because there were no legs to it, nor a coat, because it did not come above his waist--made up the remainder of his costume. Because he was so wonderfully thin, because of the costume which he wore, and because of a highly colored painting which was hanging in front of one of the small tents, Toby knew that the Living Skeleton was before him, and his big brown eyes opened all the wider as he gazed at him. “What is the matter, little fellow?” asked the man, in a kindly tone. “What makes you cry so? Has Job been up to his old tricks again?” “I don't know what his old tricks are--” and Toby sobbed, the tears coming again because of the sympathy which this man's voice expressed for him--“but I know that he's a mean, ugly thing--that's what I know; an' if I could only get back to Uncle Dan'l, there hain't elephants enough in all the circuses in the world to pull me away again.” “Oh, you run away from home, did you?” “Yes, I did,” sobbed Toby, “an' there hain't any boy in any Sunday School book that ever I read that was half so sorry he'd been bad as I am. It's awful; an' now I can't have any supper, 'cause I stopped to talk with Mr. Stubbs.” “Is Mr. Stubbs one of your friends?” asked the skeleton, as he seated himself in Mr. Lord's own private chair.