Leo the Circus Boy.

by Ralph Bonehill.

CHAPTER I.-A ROW AND ITS RESULT.

"Land sakes alive, Daniel, look at that boy!"

"Where is he, Marthy?"

"Up there on the old apple tree a-hangin' down by his toes! My gracious, does he wanter kill himself?"

"Thet's wot he does, Marthy," grumbled old Daniel Hawkins. "He'll do it, jest so ez we kin pay his funeral expenses. Never seen sech a boy before in my born days!"

"Go after him with the horsewhip, Daniel. Oh! goodness gracious, look at thet now!"

And the woman, or, rather, Tartar, Mrs. Martha Hawkins, held up her hands in terror as the boy on the apple tree suddenly gave a swing, released his feet, and, with a graceful turn forward, landed on his feet on the ground.

"Wot do yer mean by sech actions, yer young good-fer-nothin'?" cried Daniel Hawkins, rushing forward, his face full of sudden rage. "Do yer want ter break yer wuthless neck?"

"Not much, I don't," replied the boy, with a little smile creeping over his sunburned, handsome face. "I'm afraid if I did that I would never get over it, Mr. Hawkins."

"Don't try ter joke me, Leo Dunbar, or I'll break every bone in your worthless body!"

"I'm not joking; I mean what I say."

"Did yer put the cattle out in the cherry pasture?"

"Yes, sir."

"Feed the pigs?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mend thet barn door! as I told yer to yesterday?"

"Mended it last night."

"Wot about fixin' thet scythe yer broke tudder day?"

"I can't fix that. I'll have to take it down to Joe Marks' blacksmith shop."

"O' course! An' who's goin' ter pay fer it?" demanded Daniel Hawkins.

"You can take it out of my wages, Mr. Hawkins."

"Out o' yer wages?"

"That's what I said, sir."

The old farmer's face grew darker than ever. "Ain't no wages comin' to yer! You spile more than yer earn."

"According to my reckoning there are about twenty-eight dollars coming to me," returned Leo Dunbar quickly. "I have kept the tally ever since I came to live with you."

"Ain't a cent, boy; not a penny."

"I beg to differ with you. And now while we are at it, Mr. Hawkins, supposing we settle up?"

"Eh?"

"I say, supposing we settle up?"

"Settle up?" repeated the miserly farmer in amazement.

"Yes. You can pay me what you owe me. My month will be up to-morrow, and I don't intend to stay here any longer."

"But yer will stay, boy! I've got a right on yer. The poorhouse folks signed the papers."

"Squire Dobb signed the papers, but to me that doesn't count. He never had any claim on me."

"He settled yer father's estate."

"I know it-and kept me out of my money, too."

"You-you--"

"No more compliments, Mr. Hawkins. I say he kept me out of my money, and I mean it. And now he and you are doing about all you can to make me commit suicide." "Oh! jest to hear thet boy!" burst in Mrs. Hawkins, who had just come up. "Daniel, why don't yeou birch him?"

"I will, ef he gives me any more sa.s.s," replied her husband. "He shan't talk about me an' the squire."

The old farmer was getting red in the face. He knew that Leo Dunbar was telling the truth.

A year before, Leo's parents had died, leaving the boy alone in the world.

Mr. Dunbar's property had been very much involved, and Squire Dobb, the most rascally lawyer in Hopsville, had taken the matter in charge.

At the end of six months he had announced to Leo that there was no money coming to him. Then, as manager of the poorhouse of the district, the lawyer had bound Leo over to Daniel Hawkins at four dollars a month and found.

"I will talk," cried Leo spiritedly. "I think it about time that I received my rights."

This remark made Daniel Hawkins' wrath boil over. He ran toward the barn and presently returned, carrying a heavy hide-bound whip.

"You ain't had a dressing down in a month, an' now I'm a-goin' ter give it to yer good!" he exclaimed, as he raised the whip and rushed at Leo.

Whiz! The heavy whip came down, the blow aimed for the boy's shoulder.

But Leo was not hit. Like a flash he moved to one side at the last instant, and the whip only circled through the empty air.