Produced by David Garcia, Martin Pettit and the Online
by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)

MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER

[Illustration: MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER MISBEHAVES HIMSELF [See p. 205]]

MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER

A Sequel to "TOBY TYLER"

BY JAMES OTIS

AUTHOR OF "TIM AND TIP," ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

[Illustration: Logo]

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON

COPYRIGHT, 1882, 1910, BY HARPER & BROTHERS

COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY JAMES OTIS KALER

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS

CHAPTER                                        PAGE

    I. THE SCHEME                                 1

   II. THE BLIND HORSE                           14

  III. ABNER BOLTON                              31

   IV. THE PONY                                  40

    V. OLD BEN                                   54

   VI. THE GREAT EVENT                           66

  VII. ATTRACTIONS FOR THE LITTLE CIRCUS         78

 VIII. THE DINNER PARTY                          91

   IX. MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER                     105

    X. THE ACCIDENT                             119

   XI. CHANGE OF PLANS                          131

  XII. A REHEARSAL                              143

 XIII. THE RESULTS OF LONG TRAINING             156

  XIV. RAISING THE TENT                         170

   XV. STEALING DUCKS                           183

  XVI. A LOST MONKEY                            197

 XVII. DRIVING A MONKEY                         208

XVIII. COLLECTING THE ANIMALS                   218

  XIX. THE SHOW BROKE UP                        231

   XX. ABNER'S DEATH                            237

ILLUSTRATIONS

MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER MISBEHAVES HIMSELF             _Frontispiece_
                                                            FACING
                                                              PAGE
PLANNING THE CIRCUS                                             14

MR. AND MRS. TREAT EXHIBIT PRIVATELY                            92

TOBY RESCUES THE CROWING HEN FROM MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER         234

MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER

CHAPTER I

THE SCHEME

"Why, we could start a circus jest as easy as a wink, Toby, 'cause you
know all about one an' all you'd have to do would be to tell us fellers
what to do, an' we'd 'tend to the rest."

"Yes; but you see we hain't got a tent, or bosses, or wagons, or
nothin', an' I don't see how you could get a circus up that way;" and
the speaker hugged his knees as he rocked himself to and fro in a musing
way on the rather sharp point of a large rock, on which he had seated
himself in order to hear what his companions had to say that was so
important.

"Will you come down with me to Bob Atwood's, an' see what he says about
it?"

"Yes, I'll do that if you'll come out afterwards for a game of I-spy
'round the meetin'-house."

"All right; if we can find enough of the other fellers, I will."

Then the boys slipped down from the rocks, found the cows, and drove
them home as the preface to their visit to Bob Atwood's.

The boy who was so anxious to start a circus was a little fellow with
such a wonderful amount of remarkably red hair that he was seldom called
anything but Reddy, although his name was known--by his parents, at
least--to be Walter Grant. His companion was Toby Tyler, a boy who, a
year before, had thought it would be a very pleasant thing to run away
from his Uncle Daniel and the town of Guilford in order to be with a
circus, and who, in ten weeks, was only too glad to run back home as
rapidly as possible.

During the first few months of his return, very many brilliant offers
had been made Toby by his companions to induce him to aid them in
starting an amateur circus; but he had refused to have anything to do
with the schemes, and for several reasons. During the ten weeks he had
been away, he had seen quite as much of a circus life as he cared to
see, without even such a mild dose as would be this amateur show; and,
again, whenever he thought of the matter, the remembrance of the death
of his monkey, Mr. Stubbs, would come upon him so vividly, and cause him
so much sorrow, that he resolutely put the matter from his mind.

Now, however, it had been a year since the monkey was killed; school had
closed during the summer season; and he was rather more disposed to
listen to the requests of his friends.

On this particular night, Reddy Grant had offered to go with him for the
cows--an act of generosity which Toby accounted for only on the theory
that Reddy wanted some of the strawberries which grew so plentifully in
Uncle Daniel's pasture. But when they arrived there the strawberries
were neglected for the circus question, and Toby then showed he was at
least willing to talk about it.

There was no doubt that Bob Atwood knew Reddy was going to try to induce
Toby to help start a circus, and Bob knew, also, that Reddy and Toby
would visit him, although he appeared very much surprised when he saw
them coming up the hill towards his house. He was at home, evidently
waiting for something, at an hour when all the other boys were out
playing; and that, in itself, would have made Toby suspicious if he had
paid much attention to the matter.

Bob was perfectly willing to talk about a circus--so willing that,
almost before Toby was aware of it, he was laying plans with the others
for such a show as could be given with the material at hand.

"You see we'd have to get a tent the first thing," said Toby, as he
seated himself on the saw-horse as a sort of place of honor, and
proceeded to give his companions the benefit of his experience in the
circus line. "I s'pose we could get along without a fat woman, or a
skeleton; but we'd have to have the tent anyway, so's folks couldn't
look right in an' see the show for nothin'."

Reddy had decided some time before how that trifling matter could be
arranged; and, as he went industriously to work making shavings out of a
portion of a shingle, he said:

"I've got all that settled, Toby; an' when you say you're willin' to go
ahead an' fix up the show, I'll be on hand with a tent that'll make your
eyes stick out over a foot."

Bob nodded his head to show he was convinced Reddy could do just as he
had promised; but Toby was anxious for more particulars, and insisted
on knowing where this very necessary portion of a circus was coming
from.

"You see a tent is a big thing," he said seriously; "an' it would cost
more money than the fellers in this town could raise if they should pick
all the strawberries in Uncle Dan'l's pasture."

"Oh, I don't say as the tent Reddy's got his eye on is a reg'lar one
like a real circus has," said Bob slowly and candidly, as he began to
draw on the side of the wood-shed a picture of what he probably intended
should represent a horse; "but he knows how he can rig one up that'll be
big enough, an' look stavin'."

With this information Toby was obliged to be satisfied; and with the
view of learning more of the details, in case his companions had
arranged for them, he asked:

"Where you goin' to get the company--the folks that ride, an' turn
hand-springs, an' all them things?"

"Ben Cushing can turn twice as many hand-springs as any feller you ever
saw, an' he can walk on his hands twice round the engine-house. I guess
you couldn't find many circuses that could beat him, an' he's been
practising in his barn all the chance he could get for more'n a week."

Without intending to do so, Bob had thus let the secret out that the
scheme had already been talked up before Toby was consulted, and then
there was no longer any reason for concealment.

"You see we thought we'd kinder get things fixed," said Reddy quickly,
anxious to explain away the seeming deception he had been guilty of,
"an' we wouldn't say anything to you till we knew whether we could get
one up or not."

"An' we're goin' to ask three cents to come in; an' lots of the fellers
have promised to buy tickets if we'll let 'em do some of the ridin', or
else lead the hosses."

"But how are you goin' to get any hosses?" asked Toby, thoroughly
surprised at the way in which the scheme had already been developed.

"Reddy can get Jack Douglass's blind one, an' we can train him so's
he'll go 'round the ring all right; an' your Uncle Dan'l will let you
have his old white one that's lame, if you ask him. I ain't sure but I
can get one of Chandler Merrill's ponies," continued Bob, now so excited
by his subject that he left his picture while it was yet a three-legged
horse, and stood in front of his friends; "an' if we could sell tickets
enough, we could hire one of Rube Rowe's hosses for you to ride."

"An' Bob's goin' to be the clown, an' his mother's goin' to make him a
suit of clothes out of one of his grandmother's curtains," added Reddy,
as he snapped an imaginary whip with so many unnecessary flourishes that
he tumbled over the saw-horse, thereby mixing a large quantity of
sawdust in his brilliantly colored hair.

"An' Reddy's goin' to be ring-master," explained Bob, as he assisted
his friend to rise, and acted the part of Good Samaritan by trying to
get the sawdust from his hair with a curry-comb. "Joe Robinson says
he'll sell tickets, an' 'tend the door, an' hold the hoops for you to
jump through."

"Leander Leighton's goin' to be the band. He's got a pair of clappers;
an' Mrs. Doak's goin' to show him how to play on the accordion with one
finger, so's he'll know how to make an awful lot of noise," said Reddy,
as he gave up the task of extracting the sawdust, and devoted his entire
attention to the scheme.

"An' we can have some animals," said Bob, with the air of one who adds
the crowning glory to some brilliant work.

Toby had been surprised at the resources of the town for a circus, of
which he had not even dreamed; and at Bob's last remark he left his
saw-horse seat as if to enable him to hear more distinctly.

"Yes," continued Bob, "we can get a good many of some kinds. Old Mrs.
Simpson has got a three-legged cat with four kittens, an' Ben Cushing
has got a hen that crows; an' we can take my calf for a grizzly bear,
an' Jack Havener's two lambs for white bears. I've caught six mice, an'
I'll have more'n a dozen before the show comes off; an' Reddy's goin' to
bring his cat that ain't got any tail. Leander Leighton's goin' to bring
four of his rabbits an' make believe they're wolves; an' Joe Robinson's
goin' to catch all the squirrels he can--we'll have the largest for
foxes, an' the smallest for hyenas; an' Joe'll keep howlin' while he's
tendin' the door, so's to make 'em sound right."

"Bob's sister's goin' to show him how to sing a couple of songs, an'
he's goin' to write 'em out on paper so's to have a book to sell," added
Reddy, delighted at the surprise expressed in Toby's face. "Nahum Baker
says if we have any kind of a show he'll bring up some lemonade an' some
pies to sell, an' pass 'em 'round jest as they do in a reg'lar circus."

This last information was indeed surprising, for, inasmuch as Nahum
Baker was a man who had an apology for a fruit-store near the wharves,
it lent an air of realism to the plan, this having a grown man connected
with them in the enterprise.

"But he mustn't get any of the boys to help him, an' then treat them as
Job Lord did me," said Toby earnestly, the scheme having grown so in the
half-hour that he began to fear it might be too much like the circus
with which he had spent ten of the longest and most dreary weeks he had
ever known.

"I'll look out for that," said Bob confidently, "If he tries any of them
games we'll make him leave, no matter how good a trade he's doin'."

"Now, where we goin' to have the show?" and from the way Toby asked the
question it was easily seen that he had decided to accept the position
of manager which had been so delicately offered him.

"That's jest what we ain't fixed about," said Bob, as if he blamed
himself severely for not having already attended to this portion of the
business. "You see, if your Uncle Dan'l would let us have it up by his
barn that would be jest the place, an' I almost know he'd say yes if you
asked him."

"Do you s'pose it would be big enough? You know when there's a circus in
town everybody comes from all around to see it, an' it wouldn't do to
have a place where they couldn't all get in," and Toby spoke as if there
could be no doubt as to the crowds that would collect to see this
wonderful show of theirs.

"It'll have to be big enough, if we use the tent I'm goin' to get," said
Reddy decidedly; "for you see that won't be so awful large, an' it would
make it look kinder small if we put it where the other circuses put
theirs."

"Well, then, I s'pose we'll have to make that do, an' we can have two
or three shows if there are too many to come in at one time," said Toby
in a satisfied way that matters could be arranged so easily; and then,
with a big sigh, he added, "If only Mr. Stubbs hadn't got killed, what a
show we could have! I never saw him ride; but I know he could have done
better than any one else that ever tried it, if he wanted to, an' if we
had him we could have a reg'lar circus without anybody else."

Then the boys bewailed the untimely fate of Mr. Stubbs, until they saw
that Toby was fast getting into a mood altogether too sad for the proper
transaction of circus business, and Bob proposed that a visit be paid
Ben Cushing, for the purpose of having him give them a private
exhibition of his skill, in order that Toby might see some of the talent
which was to help make their circus a glorious success.

CHAPTER II

THE BLIND HORSE

Reddy had laid his plans so well that all the intending partners were
where they could easily be found on this evening when Toby's consent was
to be won, and Ben Cushing was no exception. On the hard, uneven floor
of his father's barn, with all his clothes discarded save his trousers
and shirt, he was making such heroic efforts in the way of practice,
that while the boys were yet some distance from the building they could
hear the thud of Ben's head or heels as he unexpectedly came in contact
with the floor.

When the three visitors stood at the door and looked in, Ben professed
to be unaware of their presence, and began a series of hand-springs that
might have been wonderful, if he had not miscalculated the distance,
and struck the side of the barn just as he was getting well into the
work.

[Illustration: PLANNING THE CIRCUS]

Then, having lost his opportunity of dazzling them by showing that even
when he was alone he could turn any number of hand-springs simply in the
way of exercise, he suddenly became aware of their presence, and greeted
his friends with the anxiously asked question as to what Toby had
decided to do about entering the circus business.

Bob and Reddy, instead of answering, waited for Toby to speak; it was a
good opportunity to have the important matter settled definitely, and
they listened anxiously for his decision.

"I'm goin' into it," said Toby after a pause, during which it appeared
as if he were trying to make up his mind, "'cause it seems as if you had
it almost done now. You know when I got home last summer I didn't ever
want to hear of a circus or see one, for I'd had about enough of them,
an' then I'd think of poor Mr. Stubbs, an' that would make me feel awful
bad. I didn't think, either, that we could get up such a good show; but
now you fellers have got so much done towards it, I think we'd better go
ahead--though I do wish Mr. Stubbs was alive, an' we had a skeleton an'
a fat woman."

Reddy Grant cheered very loudly as a means of showing how delighted he
was at thus having finally enlisted Toby in the scheme, and Bob, as
proof of the high esteem in which all the projectors of the enterprise
held this famous circus-rider, said:

"Now you know all about circuses, Toby, an' you shall be the chief boss
of this one, an' we'll do just what you say."

Toby almost blushed as this great honor was actually thrust upon him,
and he hardly knew what reply to make, when Ben ceased his acrobatic
exercises, and, with Bobby and Reddy, stood waiting for him to give his
orders.

"I s'pose the first thing to do," he said at length, "is to see if Jack
Douglass is willin' for us to have his hoss, an' then find out what
Uncle Dan'l says about it. If we don't get the hoss, it won't be any use
to say anything to Uncle Dan'l."

Reddy was so anxious to have matters settled at once that he offered to
go up to Mr. Douglass's house then, if the others would wait there for
his return, which proposition was at once accepted.

Mr. Douglass was an old colored man who lived fully half a mile from the
village; but Reddy's eagerness caused quick travelling, and in a
surprisingly short time he was back breathless and happy. The coveted
horse was to be theirs for as long a time as they wanted him, provided
they fed him well, and did not attempt to harness him into a wagon.

The owner of the sightless animal had expressed his doubts as to
whether he would ever make much of a circus-horse, owing to his lack of
sight and his extreme age; but he argued that if, as was very probable,
the animal fell while being ridden, he would hurt his rider quite as
much as himself, and therefore the experiment would not be tried so
often as seriously to injure the steed.

It only remained to consult Uncle Daniel on the matter, and of course
that was to be attended to by Toby. He would have waited until a fitting
opportunity presented itself; but his companions insisted so strongly,
that he went home at once to have the case decided.

Uncle Daniel was seated by the window as usual, looking out over the
distant hills as if he were trying to peer in at the gates of that city
where so many loved ones awaited him, and it was some moments before
Toby could make him understand what it was he was trying to say.

"So ye didn't get circusin' enough last summer?" asked the old
gentleman, when at last he realized what it was the boy was talking
about.

"Oh yes, I did!" replied Toby, quickly; "but you see that was a real
one, an' this of ours is only a little make-believe for three cents. We
want to get you to let us have the lot between the barn an' the road to
put our tent on, an' then lend us old Whitey. We're goin' to have Jack
Douglass's hoss that's blind, an' we've got a three-legged cat, an' one
without any tail, an' lots of things."

"It's a kind of a cripples' circus, eh? Well, Toby boy, you can do as
you want to, an' you shall have old Whitey; but it seems to me you'd
better tie her lame leg on, or she'll shake it off when you get to
makin' her cut up antics."

Then Uncle Daniel returned to his reverie, and the show was thus decided
upon, the projectors going again to view the triangular piece of land
so soon to be decorated with their tents and circus belongings.

Each hour that passed after Toby had decided, with Uncle Daniel's
consent, to go into the circus business made him more eager to carry out
the brilliant plan that had been unfolded by Bob Atwood and Reddy Grant,
until his brain was in a perfect whirl when he went to bed that night.
He was sure he could ride as well as when he was under Mr. Castle's
rather severe training, and he thought over and over again how he would
surprise every one who knew him; but he did not stop to think that there
might be a difference between the horse he had ridden in the circus and
the lame one of Uncle Daniel's, or the blind one belonging to Mr.
Douglass. He had an idea that it all depended upon himself, with very
little reference to the animal, and he was sure he had his lesson
perfectly.

Early as he got up the next morning, his partners in the enterprise
were waiting for him just around the corner of the barn, where he found
them as he went for the cows, and they walked to the pasture with him in
order to discuss the matter.

Ben Cushing was in light-marching and acrobatic costume, worn for the
occasion in order to give a full exhibition of his skill; and Reddy had
been up so long that he had had time to procure Mr. Douglass's wonderful
steed, which he had already led to the pasture so that he could be
experimented upon.

"I thought I'd get him up there," he said to Toby, "so's you could try
him; 'cause if we don't get money enough to hire one of Rube Rowe,
you'll have to ride the blind one or the lame one, an' you'd better find
out which you want. If you try him in the pasture the fellers won't see
you; but if you did it down by your house, every one of 'em would huddle
'round."

Toby thought the general idea was a good one; but he was just a trifle
uncertain as to how the blind horse would get along on such uneven
ground. However, he said nothing, lest his companions should think he
was afraid to make the attempt; and when Ben and Bob proceeded to mark
out a ring, he advised them as to its size.

The most level piece of ground that could be found was selected as the
place for the trial, but several small mounds prevented it from being
all a circus-rider could ask for.

Bob volunteered to lead the horse around the track several times, hoping
he would become so accustomed to it as to be able to go by himself after
a while; and Toby made his preparations by laying his hat on the ground
with a stone on it, so that he should be sure to find it when his
rehearsal was done.

It was a warm job Bob had undertaken, this leading the blind animal
along the ill-defined line that marked the limits of the ring, for the
sun shone brightly, and there were no friendly trees to lend a shelter;
but he paid no attention to his discomfort because of the fact that he
was doing something towards the enterprise which was to bring them in
both honor and money.

The poor old horse was the least interested of the party, and he
stumbled around the circle in an abused sort of way, as if he considered
it a piece of gross injustice to force him on the weary round when the
grass was so plentiful and tender just under his feet.

Ben was busily engaged in lengthening Mr. Douglass's rather weak and
aged bridle with a small piece of rope, and from time to time he
encouraged the ambitious clown in his labor.

"Keep it up, if it is hot!" he shouted; "an' when we get him so's he can
do it alone, he'll be jest as good a circus-hoss as anybody would want,
for we can stuff him with hay an' grass till he's fat," and Ben looked
at the clearly defined ribs in a critical way, as if trying to decide
how much food would be necessary to cover them with flesh.

"Oh, I can keep on as long as the hoss can," said Bob, as he wiped the
perspiration from his face with one hand, and clung firmly to the
forelock of the animal with the other; "but we've been round here as
many as six times already, an' he don't seem to know the way any better
than when we started."

"Oh yes, he does," cried Reddy, who was practising for his duties as
ring-master, anxious that his education should advance as fast as the
horse's did; "he's got so he knows enough to turn out for that second
knoll, though he does stumble a little over the first one."

By this time Ben had the bridle adjusted to suit him, Toby was ready to
make his first attempt at riding since he left the circus, and the more
serious work was begun.

Ben bridled the horse after some difficulty, Reddy drew out from its
hiding-place a whip made by tying a piece of cod-line to an alder
branch, and Toby was about to mount, when Joe Robinson came in sight.

He had been running at full speed, and was nearly breathless; but he
managed to cry out so that he could be understood after considerable
difficulty:

"Hold on! don't go to ridin' till after we get some hoops for you to
jump through."

"I guess I won't try any jumpin' till after I see how he goes," said
Toby as he looked rather doubtfully first at the horse's weak legs, and
then at his sharp back; "besides, we can't use the hoops till he gets
more used to the ring."

Joe threw himself on the ground as if he felt quite as much aggrieved
because he was thus left out of the programme as the horse apparently
did because he was in it, and Bob consoled him by explaining that he
had no reason to feel slighted, since he, who, as the clown, was to be
the life of the entertainment, could take no other part in these
preparatory steps than to lead a blind horse around a still blinder
ring.

"Hold him while I get on," said Toby as he clutched the mane and a
portion of the prominent backbone, drawing himself up at some risk of
upsetting the rather shaky steed.

But there was no necessity of his giving this order, for, although four
boys sprang to do his bidding, the weary horse remained as motionless as
a statue, save for his hard breathing which proclaimed the fact that the
"heaves" had long since singled him out as a victim.

Toby succeeded in getting on the animal's back after some exertion; but
he found standing there an entirely different matter from standing on
the broad saddles that were used in the circus, and the boy and the
horse made a shaky-looking pair.

"Shall I start him?" asked Bob, while Reddy stood as near the centre of
the ring as he could get, prepared to snap his cod-line whip at the
first signal.

Toby hesitated a moment; he knew that to attempt to stand upon, or on
either side of, that prominent backbone, after its owner was in motion,
would be simply to invite his own downfall; and he said, as he seated
himself carefully astride the bone:

"Let him walk around once till I see how he goes."

Reddy cracked his whip without producing any effect upon the patient
steed, but, after much coaxing, Bob succeeded in starting him again,
while Toby bounced up and down much like a kernel of corn on a griddle,
such a decided motion did the horse have.

"He won't ever do for a ridin' hoss," said Toby with much difficulty,
when he was half-way around the circle, "'cause you see his bones is so
sharp that he feels as if he was comin' to pieces every time he steps."

"Jest get him to trottin' once, an' then you can tell what he's good
for," suggested Reddy, anxious to try the effect of his whip; and,
without waiting for the rider's permission, he lashed the unfortunate
animal with the cod-line until he succeeded in rousing him thoroughly.

It was in vain Toby begged him to stop, and Bob shouted that such a
course was not the proper one for a ring-master to pursue. Reddy was
determined the rider should have an opportunity of trying the horse
under full speed, and the result was that the animal broke loose from
Bob's guiding hand, rushing out of the imaginary ring into the centre of
the pasture at a rate of speed that would have surprised and frightened
Mr. Douglass had he been there to see it.

Shaken first up, then down, and from one side to the other, Toby
stretched himself out at full length, clasping the horse around the
neck as the patched bridle broke, and shouting "Whoa!" at the full
strength of his lungs.

After running fully fifty yards, until it seemed to Toby that his head
and his body had been pounded into one, the horse stopped, leaned one
heel up against the other, and stood as if dreamily asking whether they
wanted any more circus out of him.

"Couldn't anybody ride him, he jolts so," said Toby to his partners, as
they came running up to where he stood trying to find out whether or not
his tongue was bleeding, and fearing it was, because his teeth had been
pounded down on it so hard two or three times. "You see, in the circus
they had big, wide saddles, an' the hosses didn't go anything like him."

"Well, we can fix a saddle," said Bob, thoughtfully; "but I don't know
as we could do anything to the hoss."

"Perhaps old Whitey'll go better, 'cause she's lame," suggested Reddy,
feeling that considerable credit was due him for having made it possible
to test the animal's qualities in so short a time.

"I wouldn't wonder if this one would be all right when he gets a saddle
on an' is trained," said Joe, and then he added, quickly, "I hain't got
anything more to do to-day, an' I'll stay up here an' train him."

The partners were only too glad to accept this offer; and while Joe led
the horse back to the supposed ring, Ben gave a partial exhibition of
his acrobatic feats, omitting the most difficult, owing to the uneven
surface of the land.

Then the partners retired to the shade of some alder bushes, where they
could fight mosquitoes and talk over their plans at the same time, while
Joe was perspiring in his self-imposed task of educating the blind
horse.

ABNER BOLTON

"Now I'll see about makin' the saddle," said Bob, "'cause I've seen 'em
a good many times in a circus, an' I know jest how they're made. While
I'm doin' that you fellers must be fixin' 'bout who else we'll have in
the show. Leander Leighton will come up here to-morrow, so's we can hear
how he plays, an' we must have everything fixed by then."

"Why didn't he come to-day?" asked Ben, thinking that all the members of
the firm should have been present at this first rehearsal.

"Well, you see, he had to split some wood, an' he had to take care of
the baby. I offered to help him with the wood; but he said he couldn't
get away any quicker if I did, for just as soon as the baby saw another
feller waitin' 'round, she'd yell so awful hard he'd have to stay in all
day."

This explanation as to the absence of the band appeared to be perfectly
satisfactory to those present, and they began to discuss the merits of
certain of their companions in order to decide upon the proper ones to
enlist as members, since the number of their performers was not so large
as they thought it should be in a show where an admission fee of three
cents was to be charged.

Just as they were getting well into their discussion, and, of course,
speaking of such matters as managers should keep a profound secret from
the public, Bob cried out:

"There comes Abner Bolton! He's always runnin' 'round where he hain't
wanted; an' I wonder how he come to know we was here? I'll send him off
mighty quick now, you see."

The boy who had disturbed Bob so greatly was so near when he was first
discovered that by the time the threat had been uttered he was close
upon them. He was a small boy, not more than eight years old, and hardly
as large as a boy of six should be; he walked on crutches because of his
deformed legs, which hung withered and useless, barely capable of
supporting his slight weight.

"Now, what do _you_ want?" asked Bob, in an angry tone.

"I don't want anything," was the mild reply, as the cripple halted just
outside the shade, as if not daring to come any farther until invited.
"I heard you was goin' to get up a circus, an' I thought perhaps you'd
let me watch you, 'cause I wouldn't bother you any."

"You would bother us, an' you can't stay 'round here, for we hain't
goin' to have anybody watchin' us. You may come to the show if you can
get three cents."

"I don't s'pose I could do that," said the boy, looking longingly
towards the shade, but still standing in the sun. "I don't have any
chance to get money, an' I do wish you boys would let me stay where you
are, for it's so awful lonesome out to the poor-farm, an' I can't run
around as you can."

"Well, you can't stay here, an' the sooner you go back to the village
the better we'll like it, for we don't want anybody to know what we're
talkin' about."

Toby had attempted to speak once or twice while Bob was engaged with the
cripple from the poor-farm; but he did not get an opportunity until
Abner turned to go away, looking thoroughly sad and disheartened.

"Don't go, Abner, but come and set down here where it's cool, an'
perhaps we can fix it for you."

The cripple turned as Toby spoke, and the look which came into his face
went right to the heart of the boy, who for ten long weeks had known
what it was to be almost entirely without a friend.

"I don't see what you want him 'round here for," said Bob, petulantly,
as Abner seated himself by Toby's side, thoroughly exhausted by his long
walk. "He can't do nothin'; an' if he could, we don't want no fellers
from the poor-farm mixed up with the show."

"It don't make any difference if he does live to the poor-farm," said
Toby, as he put his little brown hand on Abner's thin fingers. "He has
to stay there 'cause his father and mother's dead, an' perhaps I'd been
there, 'cept for Uncle Dan'l. If I'd thought before about his bein'
lonesome an' not bein' able to play like the rest of us, I'd gone out to
see him; an' now we do know it we'll let him stay with us, an' perhaps
he can do something in the circus."

"The fellers will laugh at us, an' say we're runnin' a poorhouse show,"
replied Bob, sulkily.

"Well, let 'em laugh; we'll feel a good deal better'n they do, 'cause
we'll know we're tryin' to let a little feller have some fun what don't
get many chances;" and, in his excitement, Toby spoke so loudly that Joe
came running up to see what was the matter.

"Let him stay 'round here to-day, 'cause we've got all through
practisin', an' then tell him to keep away," said Ben, thinking this
idea a very generous one.

"He can belong to the show jest as well as not; an' if you fellers will
let him, I'll give you my part of all the money we make."

This proposition of Toby's put the matter on a very different basis, and
both Ben and Bob now looked favorably inclined towards it.

"Don't you do that, Toby," said Abner, his eyes filling with tears
because of the kindness shown him. "I'll go right away, an' I won't
come into the village again to bother you."

"You shall come into the village every day, Abner, an' you won't bother
us at all, for you shall go 'long of me everywhere I do, an' I won't
never walk any faster'n you can;" and Toby moved his seat nearer Abner,
to show that he took him under his especial care.

"He might help tend the door," said Joe, kindly, anxious to please Toby,
"an' that'll give me a chance to do more howlin' for the hyenas, 'cause
that'll be 'bout all I oughter do if I have to hold the hoops."

"Yes, he can do that," and Toby was very eager now, "an' we can get him
a stool to sit on, an' he can do jest as much as if he could stand up."

By this time Bob and Ben had decided that, in consideration of Toby's
offer, Abner should be counted as one of the company, and the matters
under discussion that had been interrupted by the cripple's coming were
again taken up.

Owing to the possible chance that Joe could not succeed in training the
blind horse sufficiently to make him useful in the ring, it was
necessary to know just what animals they could procure, and Bob offered
to see Chandler Merrill for the purpose of securing the services of his
Mexican pony, who had never allowed any one to ride him without first
having a severe battle.

"We can train him down all right," said Bob; "an' you fellers come down
now while I find out 'bout the pony, so's we can come back here after
dinner."

As it was very important that this matter should be settled as soon as
possible, Bob's advice was acted upon; and as the boys started to go,
Toby said:

"Come, Abner, you come home with me an' get some dinner, an' then you
can come back here when I do."

Bob was disposed to make sport of this sudden friendship; but Toby paid
no attention to what he said, and if any of them wanted to talk with
him, they too were obliged to walk with the boy from the poor-farm.

By the time they arrived at Uncle Daniel's, Toby had formed many plans
for making the life of the homeless boy more cheerful than it ever had
been.

CHAPTER IV

THE PONY

Toby's interest in the crippled boy whom he had taken under his charge
was considerably greater than in the contemplated circus; and both Bob
and Ben felt angry and injured when, in the midst of some brilliant plan
for startling those of the good people of Guilford who should come to
their circus, Toby would stop to say something to Abner, who was
hobbling along as fast as possible in order that he might not oblige the
party to wait for him.

For a number of years Toby had known that there was a crippled orphan at
the poor-farm; but it so happened that he had not met him very often,
and even then he had no idea of the lonely life the boy was obliged to
lead.

On the way to the village he had formed several plans by which he might
aid Abner; but none of them could be put into operation until after he
had consulted Uncle Daniel and Aunt Olive.

It was nearly noon, and the understanding was that each one should get
his dinner and go to the pasture again, when it would be known whether
they were to be able to number Chandler Merrill's pony among the
attractions of their show, or be wholly dependent upon the disabled
horses that as yet made up their collection.

"You're comin' to get dinner with me, Abner," said Toby, as he stopped
in front of Uncle Daniel's gate, while the little fellow was continuing
on his way to the only place he could call home, there to get his dinner
with the other paupers.

"I'm afraid your aunt won't want me," he said, shyly, while it was plain
to be seen that he would be more than well pleased to accept the
invitation.

"Aunt Olive won't care a bit, an' she'll be glad to have you, I know,
'cause she says it always does her good to see hungry people eat, though
if that's so I must have done her an awful sight of good lots of times,
for it don't seem to me I ever set down to the table in my life but what
I was awful hungry. Come on now, so's we'll have time to get our hands
an' faces washed before the dinner-bell rings."

Abner followed Toby in a hesitating way, much as if he expected each
moment to be ordered back; and when they arrived at the door he stood on
the threshold, not daring to enter until permission had been given.

"This is Abner Bolton, Uncle Dan'l," said Toby, as he saw that his newly
made friend would not come in without an invitation from some one
besides himself. "He lives out to the poor-farm, an' he don't have any
such nice home as I've got, so I thought you wouldn't care if I brought
him in to dinner."

"You've got a good heart, Toby, boy, and the Lord will reward you for
it," said Uncle Daniel, as he stroked the boy's refractory hair; and
then he said to Abner, "Come in, my lad, and share Toby's dinner, nor
need you ever hesitate about accepting any such invitation when it leads
you here."

Then Aunt Olive greeted Abner so kindly that the poor boy hardly knew
whether it was reality or a dream, so strange was it all to him.

During the dinner Toby told of the difficulty he had had in getting his
partners to consent to Abner's being one of the company, and Aunt Olive,
who had shown considerable interest in the circus scheme, said:

"Why don't you let him keep a stand, and then he can make some money for
himself. I will bake him a lot of doughnuts and ginger-snaps, and your
Uncle Dan'l will lend him money enough to buy lemons an' sugar. It will
be a deal better than to have Nahum Baker there with his pies that are
as heavy as lead, an' doughnuts that have soaked up all the fat in the
pan."

Toby was delighted with the plan, and Abner's eyes glistened at the mere
idea that it might be possible for him to do, once in his life at least,
as did other and more fortunate boys.

It certainly seemed, when they arrived at the pasture again, as if
everything was conspiring in favor of their circus, for Chandler Merrill
had willingly consented to let them use his pony; but he had done so
with the kindly prophecy that the little animal would "kick their brains
out" if they were not careful with him.

In order to make sure that the consent would not be withdrawn, and at
the same time to prove that he told the truth, Bob had brought the pony
with him, and, judging from his general appearance as he stood gazing
suspiciously at the Douglass horse, he deserved all that was said of him
regarding his vicious qualities. He was about half the size of an
ordinary horse, and his coat was ragged-looking, owing to its having
been rubbed off in spots, thus giving him the air of just such a pony as
one would suppose willing to join a party of boys in starting a circus.

"Now, there's a hoss that hain't either lame or blind," said Bob,
proudly, as he led the pony once around the ring to show his partners
how he stepped. If he was intending to say anything more, he concluded
to defer it while he made some very rapid movements in order to escape
the blow the "hoss" aimed at him with his hind-feet.

"Kicks, don't he?" said Toby, in a tone which plainly told he did not
think him very well suited to their purpose.

"Well, he did then," and Bob fastened the halter more securely by
putting one end of the rope through the pony's mouth; "but you see
that's 'cause he hain't been used much, an' he's tickled 'cause he's
goin' to belong to a circus."

"How long before he'll get over bein' tickled?" asked Joe. "I'm willin'
to train Jack Douglass's hoss; but I don't know 'bout this one till he
gets sorry enough not to kick."

"Oh, he'll be all right jest as soon as Toby rides him 'round the ring a
little while."

"Do you think I'm goin' to ride him?" asked Toby, beginning to believe
his partners expected more of him than ever Mr. Castle did.

"Of course; a feller what's been with a circus ought to know how to ride
any hoss that ever lived," replied Bob, with considerable emphasis,
owing to the fact that the pony kicked and plunged so that his words
were jerked out of him, rather than spoken.

"I s'pose some fellers can; but I wasn't with the circus long enough to
find out how to ride such hosses as them," and Toby retired to the shade
of the alder bushes, where Abner was sitting to wait until Bob and the
pony had come to terms.

It was quite as much as Bob could do to hold his prize, without trying
to make any arrangements for having him ridden, and he called Reddy to
help him.

Now, as the ring-master of the contemplated circus, Reddy ought to have
known all about horses, and he thought he did until the pony made one
plunge, just as he came up smiling with whip in hand. Then he said, as
he ran towards Toby:

"I don't believe I want to be ring-master if we're goin' to have that
hoss."

"Here, Joe, you help me," cried Bob, in desperation, growing each moment
more afraid of the steed. "I want to get him up by the fence, where we
can hitch him, till we find out what to do with him."

Joe was perfectly willing to assist the unfortunate clown in his
troubles; but, as he started towards him, the pony wheeled and flung his
heels out with a force that showed he would do some damage if he could,
and Joe also joined the party among the bushes.

Bob was thus left alone with his prize, and a most uncomfortable time he
appeared to be having of it, standing there in the hot sun clinging
desperately to the halter, and jumping from one side to the other when
the pony attempted to bite, or strike him with his fore-feet.

"Let him go; he hain't any good," shouted Reddy from his secure retreat.

"If I let go the halter, he'll jump right at me," and there was a
certain ring in Bob's voice that told he was afraid.

"Hitch him to the fence, an' then climb over," suggested Joe.

"But I can't get him over there, for he won't go a step," and Bob
continued to hold fast to the halter, afraid to do so, but still more
afraid to let go.

He had borrowed the pony; but it certainly seemed as if the animal had
borrowed him, for his fear caused him to cling desperately to the halter
as the only possible means of saving his life.

The boys under the alder bushes were fully alive to the fact that
something should be done although they were undecided as to what that
something should be.

Joe proposed that they all rush out and scare the pony away, but Bob
insisted that he would be the sufferer by such a course. Reddy thought
if Bob should show more spirit, and let the vicious little animal see
that he was not afraid of him, everything would be all right; but when
it was proposed that he try the plan himself, he concluded, perhaps,
there might be serious objections to such a course.

Ben thought if all of them got hold of the halter, they could pull the
pony to the fence, and this plan was looked upon with such favor that it
was adopted at once.

Every one, except Abner, took hold of the halter, after some little
delay in getting there, owing to the readiness of the pony to use his
heels at the slightest provocation; and, just when they were about to
put forth all their strength in pulling, the pony jumped towards them
suddenly, rendering their efforts useless, and starting all, save Bob,
back to the alder bushes in ignominious flight.

Bob still remained at his post, or, more correctly speaking, the halter,
and it was very much against his will that he did so.

"I wish Chandler Merrill would come up here an' get his old hoss, for I
don't want him any longer," he said, angrily. "He ought to be prosecuted
for lettin' us have such a old tiger."

Bob did not seem to remember that, if he had refused the loan of the
pony, he would have considered Chandler Merrill very selfish; in fact,
he hardly remembered anything save his own desire to get rid of the
animal, and as quickly as possible.

"What shall I do?" he cried, in desperation. "I can't stand here all
day, an' the hoss don't mean to let me get away."

"We've got to help Bob," said Toby, decidedly, as he arose to his feet
again, and went towards the unfortunate clown. "If you fellers will try
to hold him, I'll get on his back, an' then Bob can get away."

"But he'll throw you off, an' hurt you," objected Abner, trying to
prevent his newly made friend from going.

"I can stop him from doing that, an' it's the only way I know of to help
Bob."

"You get on, Toby, an' then I'll scoot jest as soon as you get hold of
the halter," said Bob, happy at this prospect of being relieved. "Then,
when you get a chance, you jump off, an' we'll let somebody else take
him home."

It was a hard task, and they all ran considerable risk of getting
kicked; but at last it was accomplished, so far as mounting was
concerned. Toby was on the pony's back with a firm grasp of the rope
that was made to serve as bridle.

"Now, be all ready to run," he said; and there was no disposition to
linger shown by any of his friends.

"Let go!" he shouted, and at the sound of his voice the boys went one
way and the pony another at full speed.

It was not until the would-be circus managers were within the shelter of
the clump of bushes that they stopped to look for their partner, and
then they saw him at the further end of the pasture, the pony running
and leaping as if doing his best to dislodge his rider.

Even the Douglass horse seemed to be excited by the display of spirit,
for he capered around in a manner very unbecoming one as old and blind
as he.

Only for a few moments could they watch the contest, and then the
distant trees hid Toby Tyler and Chandler Merrill's pony from view.

CHAPTER V

OLD BEN

Some time the boys watched for Toby's return, and just as they were
beginning to think they ought to go in search of him, and fearing lest
he had been hurt by the vicious pony, they saw him coming from among the
trees, alone and on foot.

"Well," said Bob, with a sigh of relief, "he's got rid of the hoss, an'
that was all we wanted."

Toby's story, when at last, hot and tired, he reached the alder bushes,
was not nearly so exciting as his partners anticipated. He had clung to
the pony until they entered the woods, where he was brushed off by the
branches of the trees as easily as if he had been a fly, and with as
little damage.

How they should get the pony back into its owner's keeping was a
question difficult to answer, and they were all so completely worn out
by their exertions to get rid of him that they did not attempt to come
to any conclusion regarding it.

While they were resting from their labors, and before they had ceased to
congratulate each other that they had succeeded in separating themselves
from the pony, Leander Leighton, his accordion under his arm and his
clappers in his hand, made his appearance.

His struggle with the baby had evidently come to an end sooner than he
had dared hope, and the managers were happy at this speedy prospect of
hearing what their band could do in the way of music.

"Boys!" shouted Leander, excitedly, while he was some distance away,
"there's a real circus comin' here next week--the same one Toby Tyler
run away with--an' the men are pastin' up the bills now, down to the
village!"

The boys looked at each other in surprise; it had never entered into
their calculations that they might have a real circus as a rival, and
certainly Toby had never thought he would again see those whom he had
first run away with and then run away from. He was rather disturbed by
the prospect at first, for it seemed certain that Job Lord and Mr.
Castle would try to compel him to go with them; but a moment's thought
convinced him that Uncle Daniel would not allow them to carry him away,
and he grew as eager for more news as any of the others.

Leander knew no more than he had already told; after having been
relieved from his care of the baby, he had started for the pasture, and
had seen the show-bills as he came along. He was certain it was the same
circus Toby had gone with, for the names on the bills were the same, and
he had heard some of the townspeople say so as he came along.

"An' I shall see the skeleton an' the fat woman again," said Toby,
delighted at the idea of meeting those kind friends from whom he had
thought himself parted with forever.

"Don't you s'pose you could get 'em to leave that show an' come with
ours?" asked Bob, thinking perhaps some kind fortune had thrown this
opportunity in their way that they might the better succeed in their
project.

Toby was not sure such a plan could be made to work, for the reason that
they were only intending to give two or three performances, and Mr. and
Mrs. Treat might not think it worth their while to leave the circus they
were with on the strength of such uncertain prospects.

"And you shall go to the show, Abner," said Toby, pleased at the
opportunity he would have of making the crippled boy happy for one day
at least; "an' I'll take all of you fellers down, an' get the skeleton
to talk at you, so's you can see how nice he is. You shall see his wife,
an' old Ben, an' Ella, an'--"

"But won't you be afraid of Job Lord?" interrupted Leander, fearful lest
Toby's dread of meeting his old employer might prevent them from having
all this promised enjoyment.

"Uncle Dan'l wouldn't let him take me away, an' now I'm home here I
don't believe old Ben would let him touch me."

There was evidently no probability that they would transact any more
business relative to their own circus that day, so intent were they on
talking about the one that was to come, and it was not until nearly time
to drive the cows home that they remembered the presence of their band.

Ben proposed that Leander should show them what he could do in the way
of music, so that he need not be at the trouble of bringing his
accordion up into the pasture again, and the boys ceased all
conversation for the purpose of listening to the so-called melody.

After considerable preparation in the way of polishing his clappers on
the cuff of his jacket and fingering the keys of his accordion to make
sure they were in proper working order, Leander extracted with one
finger a few bars of "Yankee Doodle" from the last-named instrument, and
gave an imitation of a drum with the clappers, in a manner that won for
him no small amount of applause.

"Now, we'll go home," said Toby, "'cause Uncle Dan'l will be waitin' for
me an' the cows, an' to-morrow I'll meet you down-town where the circus
pictures be."

Then he helped Abner on to his crutches, and walked beside him all the
way, wishing, oh, so much! that he could save the poor boy from having
to go out to the poor-farm to sleep.

"You come in just as early as you can in the mornin', Abner, an' you
shall eat dinner with me," he said, as he parted with the boy at Uncle
Daniel's gate, "an' perhaps you'll make so much money at our circus that
you won't ever have to go out to the poor-farm again."

Abner tried to thank his friend for the kindness he had shown him; but
the sobs of gratitude came into his throat so fast that it was
impossible, and he hobbled away towards his dreary home, while Toby ran
into the house to tell the astounding news of the coming of the circus.

"So all the people who were so kind to you will be here next week, will
they?" said, rather than asked, Aunt Olive. "Well, Toby, we'll kill one
of the lambs, an' you shall invite them up here to dinner, which will
kind of encourage them to be good to any other little boy who may be as
foolish as you were."

Toby lay awake a long time that night, thinking of the pleasure he was
to have in seeing Mr. and Mrs. Treat, old Ben and little Ella, eating
dinner in Uncle Daniel's home, and of how good a boy he ought to be to
repay his uncle and aunt for their loving-kindness to him.

Operations were almost entirely suspended by the would-be circus
managers in view of the coming of the real show. It would have been
commercial folly to attempt to enter into competition with it; the real
circus would, without a doubt, prove too strong a rival for them to
contend against; and by waiting until after it had come and gone they
might be able to pick up some useful ideas regarding the show they
proposed to give.

This delay would be to their advantage in a great many other ways. The
band would have so much time for practice that he might learn another
tune, or even be able to play with more than one finger; their acrobat
would have so many rehearsals that he could, perhaps, double his present
allowance of hand-springs, and Joe would be able to bring his horses to
a more perfect state of training.

Mr. Douglass, having no use for his horse, was perfectly willing he
should remain under Joe's tuition, providing it was done in Uncle
Daniel's pasture; but matters were not in so good a condition regarding
the pony.

Chandler Merrill was anxious to have his property returned to him, and
not willing to go after it. Besides, Mr. Douglass's horse was in great
danger of being kicked to death so long as the vicious little animal
remained in the same pasture.

Very many were the discussions the boys had on the subject; but nothing
could be suggested which promised any relief, after Bob's brilliant idea
of driving the pony out, and letting him find his way home as best he
might, was tried without success. The pony not only refused to go out,
but he actually drove the boys away by the liberal use he made of his
heels.

Slowly the time passed until the day before the one on which the circus
was to arrive, Toby had almost been counting the hours and Abner, who
was to see the interior of a circus tent for the first time in his life,
was quite as excited as he.

The lamb had been killed as Aunt Olive had promised, and a rare store of
good things in the way of apple-pies, cake, doughnuts, and custards had
been prepared, until the pantry looked like a large-sized baker's shop
just opened for inspection.

Everything was ready for the guests, who were to be invited to dinner
next day; and when Toby went to bed that night, it seemed as if he would
never get to sleep for thinking of all the friends he was to see.

Abner was in quite as sleepless a condition as Toby; Aunt Olive had
invited him to remain overnight, so that he might see everything that
was going on, and as he lay in the soft, geranium-scented bed, his eyes
were kept wide open by his delight with what seemed to him the
magnificence of the room.

It seemed as though each boy in the village considered himself Toby's
particular and intimate friend during the week that preceded the coming
of the circus; and the marbles, balls, and boats that were showered upon
him in the way of gifts would almost have stocked a small shop.

Then, on this day before the circus, all the boys in town were most
anxious to know just where Toby proposed meeting the cavalcade, at what
time he was to start, and other details which showed quite plainly it
was their intention to accompany him if possible.

When Toby went to bed, it was with the express understanding with Uncle
Daniel that he was to be called at daylight, in order that he might
start out to meet the circus when it stopped to prepare for its entrance
into the town. The place where the procession was usually formed was
fully two miles from town, and as Abner could hardly walk that distance,
and certainly could not walk so fast as Toby would want to go, he had
agreed to drive the cows to pasture, after which he was to go to the
tenting-ground, where his friend would introduce him to all the
celebrities.

CHAPTER VI

THE GREAT EVENT

Uncle Daniel seemed quite as anxious as Toby that he should leave the
house in time to meet his circus friends before the entrée was made, and
Aunt Olive afterwards said he didn't sleep a wink after two o'clock for
fear he might not waken in time to rouse the anxious boy.

It was fully an hour before sunrise when Uncle Daniel awakened Toby, and
cautioned him to eat as much of the lunch Aunt Olive had set out as
possible, insisting that what he could not eat he should put into his
pocket, as it would be a long while before he would get his dinner.

The two miles Toby was obliged to walk seemed very short ones, and at
nearly every house on the road one or more boys were watching for him
quite as eagerly as for the show itself, so that by the time he arrived
at the place where two or three of the wagons had drawn up by the side
of the road, he had as many as a hundred boys for an escort, all of whom
were urging him to get the manager to take out a few lions and tigers
for their inspection before starting for the village.

Toby could hold out no promise to them; on the contrary, he insisted
that he hardly knew the manager, save by sight, and explained to them
that they were unwise to come with him on any such errand, since none of
the curiosities could be seen there, and if old Ben were still with the
company he should ride back with him.

But the boys put very little faith in what he said, seeming to have the
idea that he simply wanted to get rid of them, and, instead of going
away, they surrounded him more closely.

Toby watched anxiously as each wagon came up, and he failed to
recognize any of the drivers. For the first time it occurred to him that
perhaps those whom he knew were no longer with this particular company,
and his elation gave way to sadness.

Fully twenty wagons had come, and he had just begun to think his fears
had good foundation, when in the distance he saw the well-remembered
monkey-wagon, with the burly form of old Ben on the box.

Toby could not wait for that particular team to come up, even though it
was driven at a reasonably rapid speed; but he started towards it as
fast as he could run, and, following him something like the tail of a
comet, were all his friends, who, having come so far, were determined
not to lose sight of him for a single instant, if it could be prevented
by any exertions on their part.

Old Ben was driving in a sleepy sort of way, and paid no attention to
the little fellow who was running towards him, until Toby shouted, and
then the horses were stopped with a jerk that nearly threw them back on
their haunches.

"Well, Toby, my son! I declare, I am glad to see you;" and old Ben
reached down for the double purpose of shaking hands and helping the boy
on to the seat beside him. "Well, well, well, it's been some time since
you've been on this 'ere box, hain't it? I'd kinder forgotten what town
it was we took you from; I knew it was somewhere hereabouts though, an'
I've kept my eye peeled for you ever since we've been in this part of
the country. So you found your Uncle Dan'l all right, did you?"

"Yes, Ben, an' he was awful good to me when I got home; but Mr. Stubbs
got shot."

"No? you don't tell me! How did that happen?"

Then Toby told the story of his pet's death, and, although it had
occurred a year before, he could not keep the tears from his eyes as he
spoke of it.

"You mustn't feel bad 'bout it, Toby," said Ben, consolingly, "for, you
see, monkeys has got to die jest like folks, an' your Stubbs was sich a
old feller that I reckon he'd died anyhow before long. But I've got one
in the wagon here that looks a good deal like yours, an' I'll show him
to you."

As Ben spoke he drew his wagon, now completely surrounded by boys, up by
the side of the road near the others, and opened the panel in the top so
that Toby could have a view of his passengers.

Curled up in the corner nearest the roof, where Mr. Stubbs had been in
the habit of sitting, Toby saw, as Ben had said, a monkey that looked
remarkably like Mr. Stubbs, save that he was younger and not so sedate.

Toby uttered an exclamation of surprise and joy as he pushed his hand
through the bars of the cage, and the monkey shook hands with him as Mr.
Stubbs used to do when greeted in the morning.

"Why, I never knew before that Mr. Stubbs had any relations!" said Toby,
looking around with joy imprinted on every feature. "Do you know where
the rest of the family is, Ben?"

There was no reply from the driver for some time; but instead, Toby
heard certain familiar sounds as if the old man were choking, while his
face took on the purplish tinge which had so alarmed the boy when he saw
it for the first time.

"No, I don't know where his family is," said Ben, after he had recovered
from his spasm of silent laughter, "an' I reckon he don't know nor care.
Say, Toby, you don't really think this one is any relation to your
monkey, do you?"

"Why, it must be his brother," said Toby, earnestly, "'cause they look
so much alike; but perhaps Mr. Stubbs was only his cousin."

Old Ben relapsed into another spasm, and Toby talked to the monkey, who
chattered back at him, until the boys on the ground were in a perfect
ferment of anxiety to know what was going on.

It was some time before Toby could be persuaded to pay attention to
anything else, so engrossed was he with Mr. Stubbs's brother, as he
persisted in calling the monkey, and the only way Ben could engage him
in conversation was by saying,

"You don't seem to be very much afraid of Job Lord now."

"You won't let him take me away if he should try, will you?" Toby asked,
quickly, alarmed at the very mention of his former employer's name, even
though he had thought he would not be afraid of him, protected as he now
was by Uncle Daniel.

"No, Toby, I wouldn't let him if he was to try it on, for you are just
where every boy ought to be, an' that's at home; but Job's where he
can't whip any more boys for some time to come."

"Where's that?"

"He's in jail. About a month after you left he licked his new boy so bad
that they arrested him, an' he got two years for it, 'cause it pretty
nigh made a cripple out of the youngster."

Toby was about to make some reply; but Ben continued unfolding his
budget of news.

"Castle stayed with us till the season was over, an' then he went out
West. I don't know whether he got his hair cut trying to show the Injuns
how to ride, or not; but he never come back, an' nobody I ever saw has
heard anything about him."

"Are Mr. and Mrs. Treat with the show?"

"Yes, they're still here; he's a leetle thinner, I believe, an' she's
twenty pound heavier. She says she weighs fifty pounds more'n she did;
but I don't believe that, even if she did strike for five dollars more a
week this season on the strength of it, an' get it. They keep right on
cookin' up dinners, an' invitin' of folks in, an' the skeleton gets
choked about the same as when you was with the show. I don't know how it
is that a feller so thin as Treat is can eat so much."

"Uncle Dan'l says it's 'cause he works so hard to get full," said Toby,
quietly, "an' I shouldn't wonder if I grew as thin as the skeleton one
of these days, for I eat jest as awful much as I used to."

"Well, you look as if you got about all you needed, at any rate," said
Ben, as he mentally compared the plump boy at his side with the thin,
frightened-looking one who had run away from the circus with his monkey
on his shoulder and his bundle under his arm.

"Is Ella here?" asked Toby, after a pause, during which it seemed as if
he were thinking of much the same thing that Ben was.

"Yes, an' she keeps talkin' about what big cards you an' her would have
been if you had only stayed with the show. But I'm glad you had pluck
enough to run away, Toby, for a life like this hain't no fit one for
boys."

"And I was glad to get back to Uncle Dan'l," said Toby, with a great
deal of emphasis. "I wouldn't go away without he wanted me to, if I
could go with a circus seven times as large as this. Do you suppose
young Stubbs would act bad if I was to take him for a walk?"

"Who?" asked Ben, looking down at the crowd of boys with no slight show
of perplexity.

"Mr. Stubbs's brother," and Toby motioned to the door of the cage. "I'd
like to take him up in my arms, 'cause it would seem so much like it
used to before his brother died."

Ben was seized with one of the very worst laughing spasms Toby had ever
seen, and there was every danger that he would roll off the seat before
he could control himself; but he did recover after a time, and as the
purple hue slowly receded from his face, he said:

"I'll tell you what we'll do, Toby. You come to the tent when the
afternoon performance is over, an' I'll fix it so's you shall see Mr.
Stubbs's brother as much as you want to."

Just then Toby remembered that Ben was to be his guest for a while that
day, and, after explaining all Aunt Olive had done in the way of
preparing dainties, invited him to dinner.

"I'll come, Toby, because it's to see you an' them that has been good to
you," said Ben, slowly, and after quite a long pause: "but there hain't
anybody else I know of who could coax me out to dinner; for, you see,
rough fellows like me hain't fit to go around much, except among our
own kind. But say, Toby, your Uncle Dan'l hain't right on his speech, is
he?"

Toby looked so puzzled that Ben saw he had not been understood, and he
explained:

"I mean, he don't get up a dinner for the sake of havin' a chance to
make a speech, like the skeleton, does he, eh?"

"Oh no, Uncle Dan'l don't do that. I know you'll like him when you see
him."

"And I believe I shall, Toby," said Ben, speaking very seriously; "I'd
be sure to, because he's such a good uncle to you."

Just then the conversation was interrupted by the orders to prepare for
the parade; and as the manager drove up to see that everything was done
properly, he stopped to speak with and congratulate Toby on being home
again, a condescension on his part that caused a lively feeling of envy
in the breasts of the other boys, because they had not been so honored.

CHAPTER VII

ATTRACTIONS FOR THE LITTLE CIRCUS

While he stood there, the wagon in which the skeleton and his wife
travelled rolled past; but Toby knew they were still sleeping, and would
continue to do so until their tent was ready for them to go into.

The carriage in which the women of the company rode also passed him, and
he almost fancied he could see Ella sitting in one of the seats sleeping
with her head on her mother's shoulder, as she had slept on the stormy
night when his head was nearly jerked from his body as he tried to sleep
while sitting upright.

There were but three of the drivers who had been with the circus the
year before, and, after speaking with them, he stood by the side of the
road, and watched the preparations for the entrée with feelings far
different from those with which he had observed such preparations in
that dreary time when he expected each moment to hear Job Lord order him
to attend to his work.

The other boys crowded quite as close to him as they could get, as if by
this means they allied themselves in some way with the show; and when a
drove of ponies were led past, Joe Robinson said, longingly:

"There, Toby, if we had one or two of them to train, it would be
different work from what it is to make the Douglass boss remember his
way round the ring."

"You wouldn't have to train them any," began Toby; and then he had no
time to say anything more, for Ben, who had been talking with the
manager, called to him.

"Has your Uncle Dan'l got plenty of pasturage?" asked Ben, when the boy
approached him.

"Well, he's got twenty acres up by the stone quarry, an' he keeps three
cows on it, an' Jack Douglass's hoss, that don't count, for he's only
there till we boys have our circus," said Toby, never for a moment
dreaming of the good fortune that was in store for him.

"So you're goin' to have a circus of your own, eh?" asked Ben, with a
smile that alarmed Toby, because he feared it was a signal for one of
those terrible laughing spells.

"We're only goin' to have a little three-cent one," replied Toby,
modestly, noting with satisfaction that Ben's mirth had gone no further
than the smile.

"Two of our ponies are about used up," said the manager, "and we've got
to leave them somewhere. Ben tells me he is going to see your Uncle
Dan'l this noon, so suppose you take one of these boys and ride them up
to the pasture. Ben will make a bargain with your uncle for their
keeping, and you can use them in your circus if you want to."

Joe Robinson actually jumped for joy as he heard this, and Toby's
delight spread itself all over his face, while Bob Atwood and Ben
Gushing went near the fence, where they stood on their heads as a way of
expressing their elation at thus being able to have real live ponies in
their circus.

A black and a red pony were the ones pointed out for Toby to take away,
and they were not more than twice as large as Newfoundland dogs; they
were, in fact, just exactly what was wanted for a little circus such as
the boys were about to start.

Joe was so puffed up with pride at being allowed to ride one of these
ponies through the village that if his mind could have affected his body
he would not have weighed more than a pound, and he held his head so
high that it seemed a matter of impossibility for him to see his feet.

Very much surprised were Uncle Daniel and Aunt Olive at seeing Toby and
Joe dash into the yard astride of these miniature horses, just as they
were sitting down to breakfast; and when the matter had been explained,
Abner appeared quite as much pleased that the boys would have this
attraction in their circus as if he were the sole proprietor of it.

It was with the greatest reluctance that either of the boys left his
pony in the stable-yard and sat down to breakfast, so eager was Joe to
get back to the tenting-ground to see what was going on, and so anxious
was Toby to see the skeleton and his wife as soon as possible. But they
ate because Uncle Daniel insisted that they should do so; and, when
breakfast was over, he advised that the ponies be left in the stable
until Chandler Merrill's pony could be removed from the pasture.

When they started down town again, Abner went with them, and it was so
late in the morning that Toby was sure the skeleton and his wife would
be prepared to receive visitors.

When Toby, Abner, and Joe reached the tenting-ground, everything was in
that delightful state of bustle and confusion which is attendant upon
the exhibition of a circus in a country town, where the company do not
expect that the tent will be more than half filled, and where, in
consequence, the programme will be considerably shortened.

It did not require much search on Toby's part to find the tent wherein
the skeleton and his wife exhibited their contrasting figures, for the
pictures which hung outside were so gaudy, and of such an unusually
large size, that they commanded the attention of every visitor.

"Now I'm goin' in to see 'em," said Toby, first making sure that the
exhibition had not begun; "an' Joe, you take Abner over so's he can see
how Nahum Baker keeps a stand, an' then he'll know what to do when we
have our circus. I'll come back here for you pretty soon."

Then Toby ran around to the rear of the tent, where he knew he would
find a private entrance, thus running less risk of receiving a blow on
the head from some watchful attendant, and in a few moments he stood
before Mr. and Mrs. Treat, who, having just completed their
preparations, were about to announce that the exhibition could be
opened.

"Why, Toby Tyler, you dear little thing!" cried the enormous lady, in a
joyful tone, after she had looked at the boy intently for a moment, to
make sure he was really the one whom she had rescued several times from
Job Lord's brutality; and then she took him in her fat arms, hugging him
much as if he were a lemon and she an unusually large squeezer. "Where
did you come from? How have you been? Did you find your Uncle Daniel?"

Her embrace was so vigorous that it was some seconds after she had
released him before he could make any reply; and while he was trying to
get his breath the fleshless Mr. Treat took him solemnly by the hand,
and cleared his throat as if he were determined to take advantage of the
occasion to make one of his famous speeches.

"My dear Mr. Tyler," he said, squeezing Toby's hand until it ached, "it
is almost impossible for me to express the joy I feel at meeting you
once more. We--Lilly and I--have looked forward to such a moment as this
with a great deal of impatience, and even during our most prosperous
exhibitions we have found time to speak of you."

"There, there, Samuel, don't take up so much time with your long-winded
talk, but let me see the dear little fellow myself;" and Mrs. Treat
lifted her slim husband into a chair, where he was out of her way, and
again greeted Toby by kissing him on both cheeks with a resounding smack
that rivalled anything Reddy Grant had yet been able to do in the way
of cracking his whip.

Then she fairly overwhelmed him with questions, nor would she allow her
husband to say a word until Toby had answered them all. He was again
obliged to tell the story of Mr. Stubbs's death; of his return home, and
everything connected with his running away from the circus; while all
the time the fat lady alternately kissed and hugged him, until it seemed
as if he would never be able to finish his story.

"And, now that you are home again, don't ever think of running away,
even though I must admit that you made a wonderful success in the ring;"
and Mr. Treat crossed one leg over the other in a triumphant way,
pleased that he had at last succeeded in getting a chance to speak.

Toby was very emphatic in his assurances that he should never run away
again, for he had had quite as much experience in that way as he
wanted; and, after he had finished, Mrs. Treat, by way of further
showing her joy at meeting him once more, brought out from a large black
trunk fully half a dozen doughnuts, each quite as large among their kind
as she was among women.

"Now eat every one of them," she said, as she handed them to Toby, "an'
it will do me good to see you, for you always used to be such a hungry
little fellow."

Toby had already had two breakfasts that morning, but he did not wish to
refuse the kindly proffered gift, and he made every effort to do as she
requested, though one of the cakes would have been quite a feast for him
at his hungriest moment.

The food reminded him of the dinner-invitation he was to deliver, and,
as he forced down the rather heavy cake, he said:

"Aunt Olive's killed a lamb, an' made an awful lot of things for dinner
to-day, an' Uncle Dan'l says he'd be glad to have you come up. Ben's
coming an' I'm goin' to find Ella, so's to have her come, an' we'll
have a good time."

"Lilly an' I will be pleased to see your aunt's lamb, and we shall be
delighted to meet your Uncle Daniel," replied the skeleton, before his
wife could speak, and then a "far-away" look came into his eyes, as if
he could already taste, or at least smell, the feast in which he was
certain he should take so much pleasure.

"That's just the way with Samuel," said Mrs. Treat, as if she would
offer some apology for the almost greedy way in which her husband
accepted the invitation; "he's always thinking so much about eating that
I'm afraid he'll begin to fat up, and then I shall have to support both
of us."

"Now, my dear"--and Mr. Treat used a tone of mild reproof--"why should
you have such ideas, and why express them before our friend, Mr. Tyler?
I've eaten considerable, perhaps, at times; but during ten years you
have never seen me grow an ounce the fatter, and surely I have grown
some leaner in that time."

"Yes, yes, Sammy, I know it, and you shall eat all you can get, only try
not to show that you think so much about it." Then, turning to Toby, she
said, "He's such a trial, Sam is. We'll go to see your uncle, Toby, and
we should be very glad to do so even if we wasn't going for dinner."

"Ben an' me will come 'round when it's time to go," said Toby, and then,
in a hesitating way, he added, "Abner's out here--he's a cripple that
lives out to the poor-farm--an' he never saw a circus or anything. Can't
I bring him in here a minute before you open the show?"

"Of course you can, Toby, my dear, and you may bring all your friends.
We'll give an exhibition especially for them. We haven't got a
sword-swallower this year, and the albino children that you used to know
have had to leave the business, because albinos got so plenty they
couldn't earn their salt; but we've got a new snake-charmer, and a man
without legs, and a bearded lady, so--"

"So that our entertainment is quite as morally effective and
instructively entertaining as ever," said Mr. Treat, interrupting his
wife to speak a good word for the exhibition.

Toby ran out quickly, that he might not delay the regular business any
longer than was absolutely necessary; and at the very entrance of the
tent, looking at the pictures in wonder that almost amounted to awe, he
found Abner with his partners, and about a dozen other boys.

"Come right in quick, fellers," said Toby, breathlessly, "an' you can
see the whole show before it commences."

CHAPTER VIII

THE DINNER PARTY

The invitation was no sooner given than accepted; and in a twinkling
every one of those boys was inside the tent, looking at the skeleton and
the fat woman as though they had been old acquaintances.

Toby had told Mr. and Mrs. Treat of the little circus they were
intending to have, and he introduced to them his partners in the
enterprise.

The fleshy Lilly smiled encouragingly upon them, and the skeleton,
moving his chair slightly to prevent his wife from interrupting him,
said:

"I am pleased to meet you, gentlemen, principally, and I might almost
say wholly, because you are the friends of my old friend, Mr. Tyler.
Whatever business relations you may have with him, whether in the great
profession of the circus, or in the humbler walks of life, I am sure he
will honor the connection."

From appearances Mr. Treat would have continued to talk for some time,
but his wife passed around more doughnuts, and the attention of the
visitors was so distracted that he was obliged to stop.

"And this is Abner," said Toby, taking advantage of the break in the
skeleton's speech to lead forward his crippled friend.

Abner limped blushingly towards the gigantic lady, and when both she and
her thin husband spoke to him kindly, he was so covered with confusion
at the honor thus showered upon him that he was hardly able to say a
word.

But the time was passing rapidly, and as there were many persons
outside, probably, waiting for an opportunity to pay their money to see
the varied attractions of the show, Mrs. Treat gave the signal for the
snake-charmer to begin the entertainment, which was given as a mark of
respect, as the skeleton explained, to their friend Toby Tyler.

[Illustration: MR. AND MRS. TREAT EXHIBIT PRIVATELY]

This private exhibition lasted about fifteen minutes, and when, at its
close, the doors were thrown open to such of the public as were willing
to pay to come in, the boys were not at all anxious to leave.

"Let them stay as long as they want to, Toby," said the skeleton
indulgently.

The boys were only too glad to avail themselves of this permission, and
Toby said to Abner:

"I want to see if I can find Ella, an' you stay here till I come back."

"I'll keep him right here by me," said Mrs. Treat, "and he'll be safe
enough."

Remembering how she had served Job Lord, Toby had no fears for the
safety of his friend; he went at once, therefore, to deliver the
invitation to the last of Aunt Olive's expected guests.

When, after some little time, Toby returned, the boys had satisfied
their curiosity so far as the side-show was concerned, and all except
Abner had left the tent.

That he had found Ella was evident, as that young lady herself skipped
along by his side in the greatest possible delight at having met her
former riding companion; and that she had accepted his invitation to
dinner was shown by the scrupulous care with which she was dressed.

"It's time to go up to Uncle Dan'l's," Toby whispered to Mrs. Treat,
"an' Ben's harnessin' the hosses into your wagon, so's you won't have to
go to the trouble of puttin' on your other clothes."

"I don't know as we ought to go up there in this rig," said Mrs. Treat
doubtfully, as she looked down at her "show dress," made to display her
arms and neck to the greatest advantage, and then at her husband's
costume, which was as scanty as his body. "I wanted to dress up when we
went there; but I don't see how I'll get the chance to do it."

"I wouldn't bother, 'cause Uncle Dan'l will like you jest as well that
way, an' it will take you too long," said Toby impatiently.

The skeleton, on being consulted as to the matter, decided to do as Toby
wished, because by adopting that course they would the sooner get the
dinner about which he had been thinking ever since he had received the
invitation.

But while Mrs. Treat was ready to believe that her costume might be
reasonably fit to wear to a dinner party, she was certain that something
more than tights and a pair of short, red velvet trousers was necessary
for her husband.

Mr. Treat tried to argue with his much larger half, insisting that Uncle
Daniel would understand the matter; but his wife insisted so strongly,
and with such determination to have her own way, that he compromised by
adding to his scanty wardrobe a black frock-coat and a tall silk hat,
which gave him a rather more comical than distinguished appearance.

The audience were dismissed as soon as possible; Abner was helped into
the wagon, perfectly delighted at being allowed to ride in a circus van,
and the party started for Uncle Daniel's.

Toby sat on the box with Ben, to show him the way; and when the gaudily
painted cart stopped in front of the farm-house; it was much as if a
peacock had suddenly alighted amid a flock of demure hens.

Uncle Daniel was out in the yard to receive his strangely assorted
guests, and the greeting they received from both him and Aunt Olive was
as hearty as if they had been old acquaintances.

There was a look of calm satisfaction on the skeleton's face as the odor
of roast lamb was mingled with Uncle Daniel's welcome when he descended
from the wagon; and as the company were ushered into the "fore-room,"
the air of which was pungent with the odors of herbs used to keep the
moths from carpet and furniture, a restful feeling came over them such
as only those whose lives are dreary rounds of travelling can feel.

Uncle Daniel insisted on taking care of the horses himself, for his idea
of the duties of host would not allow that Ben should help him, and
almost as soon as he had finished this work dinner was ready.

When all the guests were at the table, and Uncle Daniel bowed his head
to invoke a blessing on those who had befriended the fatherless, the
look of general discomfort old Ben had worn from the time he reached the
house passed away, and in its place came the peaceful look Toby had seen
on Sundays after the old driver had come from church.

It seemed to Toby that he had never really known Uncle Daniel before, so
jolly was he in his efforts to entertain his guests; and the manner in
which he portioned out the food, keeping the plates well filled all the
time, was in the highest degree pleasing to Mr. Treat.

Of course very much was said about the time when Toby was an unwilling
member of the circus, and Mrs. Treat and Ben told of the boy's
experiences in a way that brought many a blush to his cheeks. Mr. Treat
was too busy with Aunt Olive's lamb, as he affectionately spoke of it,
to be able to say anything; he was wonderfully fortunate in not choking
himself but once, and that was such a trifling matter that it was all
over in a moment.

Old Ben told Toby that night, however, that Treat would not have got on
so well, if his wife had not trodden on his toes frequently, as a hint
to eat more slowly.

Although Abner had spent several hours in the side-show, it seemed as if
he would never tire of gazing at Mrs. Treat's enormous frame, and so
intently did he look at her that he missed a good chance of getting a
second piece of custard pie, though Toby nudged him several times to
intimate that he could have more as well as not.

Ben told a number of stories of circus life; Mrs. Treat related some of
her experiences in trying to prevent her husband from eating too fast;
Ella told Aunt Olive of the home she and her mother lived in during
winter; and the hour which had been devoted to this visit passed so
pleasantly that every one was sorry when it was ended.

"You've got a trim little farm here," said Ben to Uncle Daniel, when the
two went out to harness the horses; "an' I reckon that a man who has got
land enough to support him is fixed jest about as well as he can be. I
don't know of anything I'd rather be than a farmer, if I could only get
away from circus life."

"Whenever you want to leave that business," said Uncle Daniel solemnly
and earnestly, "you come right here, and I'll show you the chance to
become a farmer."

"I'd like to," said Ben, with a sigh of regret that the matter seemed so
impossible; "but I've been with a circus now, man an' boy, goin' on
forty-one years, an' I s'pose I shall always be with one."

Then he changed the conversation, making an arrangement with Uncle
Daniel for pasturing the ponies that were to be left behind, and by the
time the bargain was completed the horses were at the door.

While Uncle Daniel and old Ben had been at the stables, Mr. Treat had
been showing his liberality by giving Aunt Olive tickets for the
side-show and circus, and inducing her to promise that she and Uncle
Daniel would see both shows. He had also given Toby fully a dozen circus
tickets for distribution among his friends; and then, as Uncle Daniel
entered, he said:

"I wish to express thanks--both for myself and my wife Lilly--for the
very kind manner in which you have entertained us to-day."

Before he could say anything more the others came to say good-bye, and
he was disappointed again. Aunt Olive kissed Ella several times, while
the parting with the others was almost as between old friends, and the
guests started for the tent again, more than satisfied with their visit.

"Now, Toby, you look me up jest after the show is out this afternoon,
an' we'll fix it so's you shall have a chance to talk with Mr. Stubbs's
brother," said Ben, as they were driving along.

As a matter of course Toby promised to be there, and to bring Abner with
him.

"You said that little cripple had to live at the poor-farm, didn't you?"
asked Ben, after quite a long pause.

"Yes, an' it's 'cause he hain't got no father or mother, nor no Uncle
Dan'l like I've got," said Toby sadly.

"Hain't he got any relations anywhere?"

"No; Uncle Dan'l said he didn't have a soul that he could go to."

"It must be kinder hard for him to live there alone, an' I don't s'pose
he'll ever be able to walk."

Toby was not at all certain whether or not Abner could ever be cured;
but he told the old driver what he knew of the lonely life the boy led.
Ben did not appear to hear what was said, for he was in one of his deep
studies and seemed unconscious of everything except the fact that his
horses were going in the proper direction.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Toby," he said, after remaining silent
until they were nearly at the tent. "I hain't got a child or a chick in
the world, an' I'll take care of that boy."

Toby looked up in surprise, as he repeated, in a puzzled way:

"You'll take care of him?"

"I don't mean that I'll take hold an' tote' him 'round; but he shall
have as much as he needs out of every dollar I get. I'll see your Uncle
Dan'l, an' fix it somehow so he'll be taken out of the poorhouse."

"Why, Ben, how good you are!" and Toby looked up at his friend with
sincere admiration imprinted on his face.

"It hain't 'cause I'm good, my lad; but if I didn't help that poor
fellow in some way, I'd see them big eyes an' that pale face of hisn
every night I rode on this box alone; so you see I only do it for the
sake of havin' peace," said Ben, with a forced laugh; and then he
stopped the horses at the rear of Mr. Treat's tent. "Now you jump down,
Toby, so's to see the skeleton don't break himself all to pieces gettin'
out, for I'm kinder 'fraid he will some day. I'd rather drive a hundred
monkeys than one sich slim man as him."

Then Ben had a fit of internal laughter caused by his own remark, and
Uncle Daniel's guests were ready to resume their duties at the circus.

CHAPTER IX

MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER

It was so near the time for the circus to begin that Toby was obliged to
hurry considerably in order to distribute among his friends the tickets
the skeleton had given him, and he advised Abner to remain with Mrs.
Treat while he did so, in order to escape the crowd, among which he
might get injured.

Then he gave his tickets to those boys who he knew had no money with
which to buy any, and so generous was he that when he had finished he
had none for himself and Abner.

That he might not be able to witness the performance did not trouble him
very greatly, although it would have been a disappointment not to see
Ella ride; but he blamed himself very much because he had not saved a
ticket for Abner, and he hurried to find Ben that he might arrange
matters for him.

The old driver was easily found, and still more easily persuaded to
grant the favor which permitted Abner to view the wonderful sights
beneath the almost enchanted canvas.

From one menagerie wagon to another Toby led his friend as quickly as
possible, until they stood in front of the monkeys' cage, where Mr.
Stubbs's supposed brother was perched as high as possible, away from the
common herd of monkeys which chatted familiarly with every one who
bribed them.

Toby was in the highest degree excited; it seemed as if his pet that had
been killed was again before him, and he crowded his way up to the bars
of the cage, dragging Abner with him, until he was where he could have a
full view of the noisy prisoners.

Toby called to the monkey as he had been in the habit of calling to Mr.
Stubbs, but now the fellow paid no attention to him whatever; there were
so many spectators that he could not spend his time upon one, unless he
were to derive some benefit in return.

Fortunately, so far as his happiness was concerned, Toby had the means
of inducing the monkey to visit him, for in his pocket yet remained two
of the doughnuts Mrs. Treat had almost forced upon him; and, remembering
how fond Mr. Stubbs had been of such sweet food, he held a piece out to
the supposed brother.

Almost immediately that monkey made up his mind that the freckle-faced
boy with the doughnut was the one particular person whom he should be
acquainted with, and he came down from his perch at a rapid rate.

So long as Toby was willing to feed him with doughnuts he was willing to
remain; but when his companions gathered around in such numbers that
the supply of food was quickly exhausted, he went back to his lofty
perch, much to the boy's regret.

"He looks like Mr. Stubbs, and he acts like him, an' it must be his
brother sure," said Toby to himself as Abner hurried him away to look at
the other curiosities. When he was at some distance from the cage he
turned and said, "Good-bye," as if he were speaking to his old pet.

During the performance that afternoon Abner was in a delightful whirl of
wonder and amazement; but Toby's attention was divided between what was
going on in the ring and the thought of having Mr. Stubbs's brother all
to himself as soon as the performance should be over.

He did, however, watch the boy who sold peanuts and lemonade, but this
one was much larger than himself, and looked rough enough to endure the
hardships of such a life.

Toby was also attentive when Ella was in the ring, and he was envied by
all his acquaintances when she smiled as she passed the place where he
was sitting.

Abner would have been glad if the performance had been prolonged until
midnight; but Toby, still thinking of Mr. Stubbs's brother, was pleased
when it ended.

He and Abner waited by the animal's cages until the crowd had again
satisfied their curiosity; and as the last visitor was leaving the tent
old Ben came in, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Treat, both in exhibition
costume.

Toby was somewhat surprised at seeing them, for he knew their busiest
time was just at the close of the circus, and while he was yet wondering
at their coming he saw Ella approaching from the direction of the
dressing-tent.

He had not much time to spend in speculation, however, for Ben said, as
he came up:

"Now, boy, you shall see Mr. Stubbs's brother, and talk to him just as
long as you want to."

The skeleton and his wife and Ella looked at each other and smiled in a
queer way as Ben said this; but Toby was too much excited at the idea of
having the monkey in his arms to pay any attention to what was going on
around him.

Ben, unlocking the door of the cage, succeeded, after considerable
trouble, in catching the particular inmate he wanted, and, handing him
to Toby, said:

"Now let's see if he knows you as well as Stubbs did."

Toby took the monkey in his arms with a glad cry of delight, and fondled
him as if he really were the pet he had lost.

Whether it was because the animal knew that the boy was petting him, or
because he had been treated harshly, and was willing to make friends
with the first one who was kind to him, it is difficult to say; certain
it is that as soon as he found himself in Toby's arms he nestled down
with his face by the boy's neck, remaining there as contentedly as if
the two had been friends for years.

"There, don't you see he knows me!" cried the boy in delight, and then
he sat down upon the ground, caressing the animal, and whispering all
sorts of loving words in his ear.

"He does seem to act as if he had been introduced to you," said old Ben,
with a chuckle. "It would be kinder nice if you could keep him, wouldn't
it?"

"'Deed it would," replied Toby earnestly. "I'd give everything I've got
if I could have him, for he does act so much like Mr. Stubbs it seems as
if it must be him."

Then Ella whispered something to the old driver, the skeleton bestowed
a very mysterious wink upon him, the fat woman nodded her head till her
cheeks shook like two balls of very soft butter, and Abner looked
curiously on, wondering what was the matter with Toby's friends.

He soon found out what it was, however, for Ben, after indulging in one
of his laughing spasms, asked:

"Whose monkey is that you've got in your arms, Toby?"

"Why, it belongs to the circus, don't it?" And the boy looked up in
surprise.

"No, it don't belong to the circus; it belongs to you--that's who owns
it."

"Me? Mine? Why, Ben--"

Toby was so completely bewildered as to be unable to say a word, and
just as he was beginning to think it some joke, Ben said:

"The skeleton an' his wife, an' Ella and I, bought that monkey this
forenoon, an' we give him to you so's you'll still be able to have a Mr.
Stubbs in the family."

"Oh, Ben!" was all Toby could say; with the monkey tightly clasped in
his arms, he took the old driver by the hand; but just then the skeleton
stepped forward holding something which glistened.

"Mr. Tyler," he said, in his usual speech-making style, "when our friend
Ben told us this morning about your having discovered Mr. Stubbs's
brother, we sent out and got this collar for the monkey, and we take the
greatest possible pride in presenting it to you; although, if it had
been something that my Lilly could have made with her own fair fingers,
I should have liked it better."

As he ceased speaking, he handed Toby a very pretty little dog-collar,
on the silver plate of which was inscribed:

     +---------------------------------+
     |     MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER.       |
     |          PRESENTED TO           |
     |           TOBY TYLER            |
     |                                 |
     |               BY                |
     |                                 |
     | THE SKELETON,    THE FAT WOMAN, |
     | OLD BEN,         LITTLE ELLA.   |
     +---------------------------------+

Toby took the collar, and as he fastened it on the monkey's neck he
said, in a voice that trembled considerably with emotion:

"You've all of you been awful good to me, an' I don't know what to say
so's you'll know how much I thank you. It seems as if ever since I
started with the circus you've all tried to see how good you could be;
an' now you've given me this monkey that I wanted so much. Some time,
when I'm a man, I'll show you how much I think of all you've done for
me."

The tears of gratitude that were gathering in Toby's eyes prevented him
from saying anything more, and then Mrs. Treat and Ella both kissed him,
while Ben said, in a gruff tone:

"Now carry the monkey home, an' get your supper, for you'll want to come
down here this evening, an' you won't have time if you don't go now."

Ella, after making Toby promise that he would see her again that night,
went with Mr. and Mrs. Treat, while old Ben, as if afraid he might
receive more thanks, walked quickly away towards the dressing-rooms, and
there was nothing else for Toby and Abner to do but go home.

It surely seemed as if every boy in the village knew that Toby Tyler had
remained in the tent after the circus was over, and almost all of them
were waiting around the entrance when the two boys came out with the
monkey.

If Toby had stayed there until each one of his friends had looked at and
handled the monkey as much as he wanted to, he and Abner would have
remained until morning, and Mr. Stubbs's brother would have been made
very ill-natured.

He waited until his friends had each looked at the monkey, and then he
and Abner started home, escorted by nearly all the boys in town.

The partners in the amateur-circus scheme were nearly as wild with joy
as Toby was, for now their enterprise seemed an assured success, since
they had two real ponies and a live monkey to begin with. They seemed to
consider it their right to go to Uncle Daniel's with Toby; and when the
party reached the corner that marked the centre of the village, they
decided that the others of the escort should go no farther--a decision
which relieved Toby of an inconvenient number of friends.

As it was, the party was quite large enough to give Aunt Olive some
uneasiness lest they should track dirt in upon her clean kitchen floor,
and she insisted that both the boys and the monkey should remain in the
yard.

Toby had an idea that Mr. Stubbs's brother would be treated as one of
the family; and, had any one hinted that the monkey would not be allowed
to share his bed and eat at the same table with him, he would have
resented it strongly.

But Uncle Daniel soon convinced him that the proper place for his pet
was in the wood-shed, where he could be chained to keep him out of
mischief, and Mr. Stubbs's brother was soon safely secured in as snug a
place as a monkey could ask for.

Not until this was done did the partners return to their homes, or the
centre of attraction--the tenting-grounds--nor did Toby find time to get
his supper and go for the cows.

Not once during the afternoon had Toby said anything to Abner of the
good fortune that might come to him through old Ben; but when he got
back from the pasture and met Uncle Daniel in the barn, he told him what
the old driver had said about Abner.

"Are you sure you heard him rightly, Toby, boy?" asked the old gentleman
as he pushed his glasses up on his forehead, as he always did when he
was surprised or perplexed.

"I know he said that; but it seems as if it was too good to be true,
don't it?"

"The Lord's ways are not our ways, my boy, and if he sees fit to work
some good to the poor cripple, he can do it as well through a circus
driver as through one of his elect," said Uncle Daniel reverentially,
and then he set about milking the cows in such an absent-minded way that
he worried old Short-horn until she kicked the pail over when it was
nearly half full.

CHAPTER X

THE ACCIDENT

That night Toby and Abner went to the circus grounds with Uncle Daniel
and Aunt Olive; and when old Ben approached the party as they were
nearing the tent, Toby motioned the cripple to come with him, for he
thought it might be better that the boy should not hear the conversation
concerning himself.

It had been decided by Uncle Daniel that the boys should go to the
circus grounds that evening, and stay there until it was nearly dark,
when they were to go home and go to bed; for he never believed it could
do boys any good to be out after dark, while he was certain it was
better for their health if they went to bed early.

Therefore Toby intended to make this visit simply one of farewell,
after Abner should see a little more of the bustle and confusion that
had so fascinated him in the afternoon.

To that end the boys walked around the enclosure, listened to the men
who were loudly crying the wonderful things they had for sale, and all
the while kept a bright lookout in the hope of seeing some of their
circus friends.

It was nearly time for the performance to begin when the boys went into
the skeleton's tent, and said good-bye to the thin man and his fat wife.

Then Toby, anxious to run around to the dressing-rooms to speak with
Ella, and not daring to take Abner with him, said to the boy:

"Now you wait here for a minute, an' I'll be right back."

Abner was perfectly contented to wait; it seemed to him that he would
have been willing to stay there all night, provided the excitement
should be continued, and he gazed around him in perfect delight as he
leaned against one of the tent ropes.

Toby found Ella without much difficulty; but both she and her mother had
so much to say to him that it was some time before he could leave them
to go in search of Ben.

The old driver was curled up on his wagon, taking "forty winks," as he
called a nap, before starting on the road again.

When Toby awakened him, he explained that he would not have taken the
liberty if it had not been for the purpose of saying good-bye, and Ben
replied, good-naturedly:

"That's all right, Toby; I should only have been angry with you if you
had let me sleep. I've fixed it with your uncle about that little
cripple; and now, when I get pitched off and killed some of these dark
nights, there'll be one what'll be sorry I'm gone. Be a good boy, Toby;
don't ever do anything you'd be afraid to tell your Uncle Dan'l of, and
next year I'll see you again."

Toby wanted to say something; but the old driver had spoken his
farewell, and was evidently determined neither to say nor to hear
anything more, for he crawled up on the box of the wagon again, and
appeared to fall asleep instantly.

Toby stood looking at him a moment, as if trying to make out whether
this sudden sleep was real, or only feigned in order to prevent the
parting from being a sad one; and then he said, as he started towards
the door:

"Well, I thank you over and over again for Mr. Stubbs's brother, even if
you have gone to sleep." Then he went to meet Abner.

When he reached the place where he had left his friend, to his great
surprise he could see nothing of him. There was no possibility that he
could have made any mistake as to the locality, for he had left him
standing just behind the skeleton's tent.

Toby ran quickly around the enclosure, asked some of the attendants in
the dressing-room if they had seen a boy on crutches, and then he went
into Mr. Treat's tent. But he could neither hear nor see anything of
Abner, whose complete disappearance was, to say the least, very strange.

Toby was completely bewildered by this sudden disappearance, and for
some moments he stood looking at the place where he had left his friend,
as if he thought that his eyes must have deceived him, and that the boy
was still there.

There were but few persons around the outside of the tent, those who had
money enough to pay for their admission having gone in, and those who
were penniless having gone home, so that Toby did not find many of whom
to make inquiries. The attachés of the circus were busily engaged
packing the goods for the night's journey, and a number of them had
gathered around one of the wagons a short distance away. But Toby
thought it useless to ask them for tidings of his missing friend, for he
knew by experience how busy every one connected with the circus was at
that hour.

After he had looked at the tent rope against which he had seen Abner
leaning, until he recovered his presence of mind, he went into the tent
again for the purpose of getting Uncle Daniel to help him in the search.
As he was passing the monkey wagon, however, he saw old Ben--whom he had
left apparently in a heavy sleep--examining his wagon to make sure that
everything was right, and to him he told the story of Abner's strange
disappearance.

"I guess he's gone off with some of the other fellows," said Ben,
thinking the matter of but little importance, but yet going out of the
tent with Toby as he spoke. "Boys are just like eels, an' you never know
where to find 'em after you once let 'em slip through your fingers."

"But Abner promised me he'd stay right here," said Toby.

"Well, some other fellows came along, an' he promised to go with them, I
s'pose."

"But I don't believe Abner would; he'd keep his promise after he made
it."

While they were talking they had gone out of the tent, and Ben started
at once towards the crowd around the wagon, for he knew there was no
reason why so many men should be there when they had work to do
elsewhere.

"Did you go over there to see what was up?" asked the old driver.

"No, I thought they were getting ready to start, an' I could see Abner
wasn't there."

"Something's the matter," muttered the old man, as he quickened his
pace, and Toby, alarmed by the look on his friend's face, hurried on,
hardly daring to breathe.

One look into the wagon around which the men were gathered was
sufficient to show why it was that Abner had not remained by the tent
as he had promised; for he lay in the bottom of the cart, to all
appearances dead, while two of the party were examining him to learn the
extent of his injuries.

"What is the matter? How did this boy get hurt?" asked Ben, sternly, as
he leaped upon the wagon, and laid his hand over the injured boy's
heart.

"He was standing there close by the guy ropes when we were getting ready
to let the canvas down. One of the side poles fell and struck him on the
head, or shoulder, I don't know which," replied a man.

"It struck him here on the back of the neck," said one of those who were
examining the boy, as he turned him half over to expose an ugly-looking
wound around which the blood was rapidly settling. "It's a wonder it
didn't kill him."

"He hain't dead, is he?" asked Toby, piteously, as he climbed up on one
of the wheels and looked over in a frightened way at the little
deformed body that lay so still and lifeless.

"No, he hain't dead," said Ben, who had detected a faint pulsation of
the heart; "but why didn't some of you send for a doctor when it first
happened?"

"We did," replied one of the men. "Some of the village boys were here,
and we started them right off."

Almost as the man spoke, Dr. Abbott, one of the physicians of the town,
drove up and made his way through the crowd.

Toby, too much alarmed to speak, watched the doctor's every movement as
he made an examination of the wounded boy, and listened to the accounts
the men gave of the way in which the accident had happened.

"His injuries are not necessarily fatal, but they are very dangerous. He
lives at the poor-farm, and should be taken there at once," said the
doctor after he had made a slight and almost careless examination.

Toby was anxious that the poor boy should be taken to his home rather
than to the comfortless place the doctor had proposed; but he did not
dare make the suggestion before asking Uncle Daniel's consent to it. He
was about to ask them not to move Abner until he could find his uncle,
when Ben whispered something to the doctor that caused him to look at
the old driver in surprise.

"I'll ask Uncle Dan'l to take him home with us," said Toby as he slipped
down from his high perch and started towards the tent.

"I'll take care of that," said Ben as he went towards the tent with him.
"I had just fixed it with your uncle so's he'd take Abner from the
poor-farm an' board him, an' now there's all the more reason why he
should do it. You go back an' stay with Abner, an' I'll bring your Uncle
Dan'l out."

Then Toby went back to the wagon where the poor little cripple still
lay as one dead, while the blood flowed in a tiny stream from one of his
arms, where the physician had opened a vein.

Not understanding the reason for this blood-letting, and supposing that
the crimson flow was due to the injuries Abner had received, Toby cried
out in his fear; but one of the men explained the case to him, and then
he waited as patiently as possible for the driver's return.

Both Uncle Daniel and Aunt Olive came out with Ben, and within a very
few moments Abner was being carried to the farm-house, in the same wagon
that had taken him there before in company with the skeleton and his
party, for that famous dinner.

It frightened Toby still more to see the unconscious boy carried into
the house by Ben and the doctor as though he were already dead; and when
Aunt Olive led them into the best room, where no one had slept since
Uncle Daniel's sister died, it seemed as if every one believed Abner
could not live, or they would not have carried him there.

Toby hardly knew when Ben went away, or whether he said anything before
he left, or, in fact, anything else, so sad and confused was he. He did
not even think about Mr. Stubbs's brother, but remained in one corner of
the room, almost hidden by one of the flowing chintz curtains, until
Uncle Daniel heard him sobbing, and led him away to his room.

"There is good reason to hope Abner will recover," said the old man as
he stroked Toby's hair; "but he is in the keeping of the One who never
errs, and whatsoever He does is good."

Then Uncle Daniel actually kissed the boy, as he told him to go to bed
and go to sleep. Toby went to bed as he was commanded, though it seemed
impossible he should sleep while it might be that Abner was dying.

CHAPTER XI

CHANGE OF PLANS

Toby was thoroughly surprised, when he awoke, to find that it was
morning, and that his slumber had been as sweet as if nothing had
happened. He dressed himself as quickly as possible, and ran
down-stairs, and Uncle Daniel told him the doctor had just left, after
saying he thought Abner would recover.

It was a sad visit Toby paid Mr. Stubbs's brother that morning; and, as
he petted him, the tears came into his eyes when he thought of poor
Abner, until he was obliged to leave the monkey to himself, after having
tied him so that he could take a short run out of doors.

Then he visited the ponies in the stable, and when he returned to the
house he found all his partners in the circus enterprise, as well as
several other boys, waiting to hear an account of the accident.

Dr. Abbott had reported that Abner had been injured; but, as he had not
given any particulars, the villagers were in a state of anxious
uncertainty regarding it.

After Toby had told them all he knew about the matter, and had allowed
them to see the monkey and the ponies, which some of them seemed to
regard as of more importance than the injured boy, Bob asked:

"Well, now what about our circus?"

"Why, we can't do anything on that till Abner gets well," said Toby, as
if surprised that the matter should even be spoken about.

"Why not? He wasn't goin' to do any of the ridin', an' now's the time
for us to go ahead while we can remember what they did at the show
yesterday. It don't make any difference 'bout our circus if he did get
hurt," and Bob looked around at the others as if asking whether they
agreed with him or not.

"I think we ought to wait till he gets better," said Joe, "'cause he was
goin' in with us, an' it don't seem jest fair to have the show when he's
so sick."

"That's foolish," said Ben, with a sneer. "If he hadn't come up to the
pasture the other day, you wouldn't thought anything 'bout him, an' he'd
been out to the poor-farm where he belongs."

"If he hadn't come up there," said Toby, "I'd never known how lonesome
he was, an' I'd gone right on havin' a good time without ever once
thinkin' of him. An' if he hadn't come up there, perhaps he wouldn't got
hurt, an' it seems almost as if I'd done it to him, 'cause I took him to
the circus."

"Don't make a fool of yourself, Toby Tyler!" and Ben Gushing spoke
almost angrily. "You act awful silly 'bout that feller, an' father says
he's only a pauper anyway."

"It wouldn't make any difference if he was, 'cause he's a poor lonesome
cripple; but he hain't a pauper, for old Ben's goin' to take care of
him, an' he pays Uncle Dan'l for lettin' him stay here."

This news was indeed surprising to the boys, and as they fully realized
that Abner was under the protection of a "circus man," he rose
considerably in their estimation.

They were anxious to know all about the matter, and when Toby told them
all he could, they looked at the case in such an entirely different
light that Ben Gushing even offered to go out in the field, where he
could be seen from the windows of the room in which Abner lay, and go
through his entire acrobatic performance in the hope the sight might do
the invalid some good. Leander Leighton also offered to come twice each
day and play "Yankee Doodle" with one finger on the accordion, in order
to soothe him.

But Toby thought it best to decline both these generous offers; he was
glad they had been made, but would have been much better pleased if they
had come while it was still believed Abner's only home was at the
poorhouse.

When the boys went away, Toby pleaded so hard that Aunt Olive consented
to his sitting in the chamber where Abner lay, with the agreement that
he should make no noise; and there he remained nearly all the day, as
still as any mouse, watching the pale face on which death seemed already
to have set its imprint.

Each day for two weeks Toby remained on watch, leaving the room only
when it was necessary, and he was at last rewarded by hearing Abner call
him by name.

After that, Aunt Olive allowed the two boys to talk a little, and a few
days later Mr. Stubbs's brother was brought in to pay his respects to
the invalid.

Many times during Abner's illness had the boys been up to learn how he
was getting on, and to try to persuade Toby to commence again the
preparations for the circus; but he had steadily refused to proceed
further in the matter until Abner could at least play the part of
spectator.

Uncle Daniel had had several letters from Ben inquiring about Abner's
condition; and as each one contained money, some of which had been sent
by the skeleton and his wife to "Toby Tyler's friend," the sick boy had
wanted for nothing. Ben had also written that he had gained the consent
of the proprietors of the circus to have the ponies driven for Abner's
benefit, and had sent a dainty little carriage and harnesses so that he
could ride out as soon as he was able.

Chandler Merrill had grown tired of waiting for his pony, and had taken
him from the pasture, while Reddy had long since returned the blind
horse to its owner.

But during all these five weeks the work had gone slowly but steadily on
circusward. Leander had become so expert a musician on the accordion,
that he could play "Yankee Doodle" with all his fingers, "Old Hundred"
with two; and was fast mastering the intricacies of "Old Dog Tray."

As to Ben Gushing, it would be hard to say exactly how much progress he
had made, the reports differed so much. He claimed to be able to turn
hand-springs around the largest circus ring that was ever made, and to
stand on his head for a week; but some of the boys who were not partners
in the enterprise flatly contradicted this, and declared that they could
do as many feats in the acrobatic line as he could.

Joe Robinson had practised howling until Reddy insisted that there was
little or no difference between him and the fiercest and
strongest-lunged hyena that ever walked. Bob could sing the two songs
his sister had taught him, and had written out twelve copies of them in
order to have a good stock to sell from; but Leander predicted that he
would not be able to dispose of many, because one was the "Suwanee
River," and the other "A Poor Wayfaring Man," the words of which any boy
could get by consulting an old music-book.

Reddy had made a remarkably large whip, which he could snap once out of
every three attempts, and not hit himself on the head more than once out
of five.

Thus the circus project was as promising as ever, and Abner, as well as
the other partners, had urged Toby to take hold of it again; but he had
made no promises until the day came when Abner was able to sit up, and
Dr. Abbott said that he could go out for a ride in another week, if he
still continued to improve.

Then it was that Toby told his partners he would meet them on the first
day Abner went out for a ride, and tell them when he would take up the
circus work again, which made every one more anxious than ever to see
the poor-farm boy out of doors.

From the time when the tiny little carriage and the two sets of harness
glistening with silver had come, Toby had been anxious for a drive with
the ponies; but he had resolutely refused to use them until Abner could
go with him, although Uncle Daniel had told him he could try them
whenever he wished. He had waited for his other pleasures until Abner
could join him, and he insisted on waiting for this one. One day, when
Aunt Olive spoke to him about it, he said:

"If I was sick, an' had such a team sent to me, I'd feel kinder bad to
have some other boy using it, an' so I'm goin' to let Abner be the
first one to go out with the ponies."

It was hard not even to get into the little carriage that was so
carefully covered with a white cloth in the stable; but Toby resisted
the temptation, and when at last the day did come that Aunt Olive and
Uncle Daniel helped the sick boy down-stairs, and lifted him into the
prettiest little pony carriage ever seen in Guilford, he felt amply
rewarded for his denial.

They drove all over the town, stopping now and then to speak with some
of their friends, or to answer questions as to Abner's health; and when
it was nearly time to return home Toby turned the ponies' heads towards
the pasture, where he knew his partners were waiting for him according
to agreement.

"We'll go on with the circus now," he said to Abner, "for I can take you
with me in this team, an' you can stay in it all the time we're
practising so's it'll be 'most as good as if you could do something
towards it yourself."

Abner was quietly happy; the tender, thoughtful care that had been
bestowed upon him since his mishap had been such as, in his mind at
least, repaid him for all the pain.

"I hope you will have it," he said, earnestly, "for, even if I can't be
with you all the time, I won't feel as if I was keepin' you from it."

Then he put his hand in a loving way on Toby's cheek, and the "boss of
the circus" felt fully repaid for having waited for his pleasure.

At the pasture all the partners were gathered, for Toby had promised to
tell them when he would begin operations; and as he drove the ponies up
to the bars, he shouted:

"Abner an' me will be up here about nine o'clock to-morrow morning, an'
we'll bring Mr. Stubbs's brother with us."

There was a mighty shout, and Ben Cushing stood on his head, when this
announcement was made, and then Toby and Abner drove home as quickly as
their ponies could scamper.

CHAPTER XII

A REHEARSAL

When Toby told Uncle Daniel that night of their intention to go on with
the work of the long-delayed circus, and that Abner was to ride up to
the pasture where he could see everything that was going on, the old
gentleman shook his head doubtingly, as if he feared the consequences to
the invalid, who appeared very much exhausted even by the short ride he
had taken.

Abner, interpreting Uncle Daniel's shake of the head the same way Toby
did, pleaded hard to be allowed to go, insisting that he would be no
more tired sitting in the little carriage than he would in a chair at
home; and Aunt Olive joined in the boys' entreaty, promising to arrange
the pillows in such a manner that Abner could lie down or sit up, as
best suited him.

"We'll see what the doctor has to say about it," replied Uncle Daniel,
and, with much anxiety, the boys awaited the physician's coming.

"Go? Why, of course he can go, and it will do him good to be
out-of-doors," said the medical gentleman when he made his regular
afternoon visit and Uncle Daniel laid the case before him.

Toby insisted on bringing Mr. Stubbs's brother into the invalid's room
as a signal mark of rejoicing at the victory the doctor had won for
them, and Abner was so delighted with the funny pranks the monkey played
that it would have been difficult to tell by his face that the morning
ride had tired him.

Mr. Stubbs's brother was quite as mischievous as a monkey could be; he
capered around the room, picking at this thing and looking into that,
until Aunt Olive laughed herself tired, and Uncle Daniel declared that
if the other monkey was anything like this one, Toby was right when he
named him Steve Stubbs, so much did he resemble that gentleman in
inquisitiveness.

The day had been so exciting to the boy who had been confined to one
room for several weeks, that he was quite ready to go to bed when Aunt
Olive suggested it; and Toby went about his evening's work with a
lighter heart than he had had since the night he found his crippled
friend lying so still and death-like in the circus wagon.

The next morning Toby was up some time before the sun peeped in through
the crevices of Uncle Daniel's barn to awaken the cows, and he groomed
the tiny ponies till their coats shone like satin. The carriage was
washed until every portion of it reflected one's face like a mirror, and
the harnesses with their silver mountings were free from the slightest
suspicion of dirt.

Then after the cows had been driven to the pasture Mr. Stubbs's brother
was treated to a bath, and was brushed and combed until, losing all
patience at such foolishness, he escaped from his too cleanly-disposed
master, taking refuge on the top of the shed, where he chattered and
scolded at a furious rate as he tried to explain that he had no idea of
coming down until the curry-comb and brush had been put away.

But when the pony team was driven up to the door, and Toby decorated the
bridles of the little horses with some of Aunt Olive's roses, Mr.
Stubbs's brother came down from his high perch, and picked some of the
flowers for himself, putting them over his ears to imitate the ponies;
then he gravely seated himself in the carriage, and Toby had no
difficulty in fastening the cord to his collar again.

Aunt Olive nearly filled the little carriage with pillows so soft that a
very small boy would almost have sunk out of sight in them; and in the
midst of these Abner was placed carefully, looking for all the world, as
Toby said, like a chicken in a nest.

Mr. Stubbs's brother was fastened in the front in such a way that his
head came just above the dash-board, over which he looked in the most
comical manner possible.

Then Toby squeezed in on one side, declaring he had plenty of room,
although there was not more than three square inches of space left on
the seat, and even a portion of that was occupied by a fan and some
other things Aunt Olive had put in for Abner's use.

Both the boys were in the highest possible state of happiness, and Abner
was tucked in until he could hardly have been shaken had he been in a
cart instead of a carriage with springs.

"Be sure to keep Abner in the shade, and come home just as soon as he
begins to grow tired," cried Aunt Olive as Toby spoke to the ponies, and
they dashed off like a couple of well-trained Newfoundland dogs.

"I'll take care of him like he was wax," cried Toby as they drove out
through the gateway, and Mr. Stubbs's brother screamed and chattered
with delight, while Abner lay back restful and happy.

It was just the kind of a morning for a ride, and Abner appeared to
enjoy it so much that Toby turned the little steeds in the direction of
the village, driving fully a mile before going to the pasture.

When they did arrive at the place where the first rehearsal was to be
held, they found the partners gathered in full force; and, although it
was not even then nine o'clock, they had evidently been there some time.

Joe Robinson ran to let the bars down, while the ponies pranced into the
field as if they knew they were the objects of admiration from all that
party, and they shook their tiny heads until the petals fell from the
roses in a shower upon the grass.

Mr. Stubbs's brother stood as erect as possible, and was so excited by
the cheers of the boys that he seized the flowers he had tucked over his
ears, and flung them at the party in great glee.

The carriage was driven into the shade cast by the alders; the ponies
were unharnessed, and fastened where they could have a feast of grass;
and Toby was ready for business, or thought he was. But, just as he was
about to consult with his partners, a scream from both Abner and the
monkey caused him to turn towards the carriage quickly.

From the moment they had entered the pasture, Mr. Stubbs's brother had
shown the greatest desire to be free; and when he saw his master walking
away, while he was still a prisoner, he made such efforts to release
himself that he got his body over the dash-board of the carriage, and,
when Toby looked, he was hanging there by the neck as if he had just
committed suicide.

Toby ran quickly to the relief of his pet; and when he had released him
from his uncomfortable position, the other boys pleaded so hard that
Toby gave him his freedom, which he celebrated by scampering across the
pasture on all four paws, with his tail curled up over his back like a
big letter O.

It seemed very much as if Mr. Stubbs's brother would break up the
rehearsal, for he did look so comical as he scampered around that all
the partners neglected their business to watch and laugh at him, until
Toby reminded them that he could not stay there very long because of
Abner's weakness.

Then Bob and Reddy straightened themselves up in a manner befitting
circus proprietors, and began their work.

"Leander is goin' to commence the show by playin' 'Yankee Doodle,'" said
Bob, as he consulted a few badly written words he had traced on the back