"Well," said his worship, smiling, "we shall see to-night. Good-day to you."

"O Papa, that is delightful!" cried Alice, the moment the men were gone.

"How I wish it were evening already! I can scarcely wait."

Evenings come at last, even when waited for. Alice had not time, after all, to get _very_ impatient before the carriage was at the door, and she and Papa and Aunty were in it, rolling away toward the market-place.

Crowds of people were going in the same direction. Half the Papas and Mammas in Banbury had taken their boys and girls to see the show. There, behind the market cross, rose the great tent, a flapping red flag on top. Bright lights streamed from within. How exciting it was! The tent was so big inside that there was plenty of room for all the people who wished to come, and more. Ranges of benches ran up till they met the canvas roof. Below were the boxes, hung with red and white cloth and banners. Dazzling lights were everywhere, the band was playing, from behind the green curtain came sounds of voices and horses whinnying to each other. Alice had never been to a circus before. It seemed to her the most beautiful and bewildering place which she had ever imagined.

By and by the performance began. How the Banbury children did enjoy it!

The clown's little jokes had done duty in hundreds of places before.

Some of them had even appeared in the almanac! But in Banbury they were all new, and so funny that everybody laughed till their sides ached. And the wonderful horses! Madame Orley's educated steed, which picked out letters from a card alphabet and spelled words with them, went through the military drill with the precision of a trooper, and waltzed about the arena with his mistress on his back!--well, he was not a horse; he was a wizard steed, like the one described in the "Arabian Nights Tales." Alice almost thought she detected the little peg behind his ear!

She shuddered over the feats of the sky-blue trapezeist, who seemed to do every thing but fly. The knights in imitation armor were real knights to Alice; the pink and gold ladies were veritable damsels of romance, undergoing adventures. But, delightful as all this was, she was conscious that the best remained behind, and eagerly watched the door of entrance, in hopes of the appearance of the white steed and the little rider who had so fascinated her imagination in the morning. Papa noticed it, and laughed at her; but, for all that, she watched.

At last they came, and Alice was satisfied. Mignon looked prettier and daintier than ever in her light fantastic robe of white and spangles, with silver bracelets on her wrists and little anklets hung with bells about her slender ankles. Round and round and round galloped the white horse, the fairy figure on his back now standing, now lying, now on her knees, now poised on one small foot, or, again, dancing to the music on top of the broad saddle, keeping exact time, every movement graceful and light as that of a happy elf. Hoops, wreathed with roses and covered with silver paper, were raised across her path. She bounded through them easily, smiling as she sprang. The white horse seemed to love her, and to obey her every gesture; and Mignon evidently loved the horse, for more than once in the pauses Alice saw her pat and caress the pretty creature. At length the final bound was taken, the last rose-wreathed hoop was carried away, Mignon kissed her hand to the audience and disappeared at full gallop, the curtain fell, and the ring-master announced that Part First was ended, and that there would be an intermission of fifteen minutes.

By this time Alice was in a state of tumultuous admiration which knew no bounds.

"Oh, if I could only speak to her and kiss her, just once!" she cried.

"Isn't she the darlingest little thing you ever saw? I wish I could.

Don't you think they'd let me, Papa?"

"Would there be any harm in it, do you think?" asked the Mayor of his sister. "She's a pretty, innocent-looking little creature."

"I don't quite like having Alice a.s.sociate with such people," objected Miss Flower. Then, softened by the wistful eagerness of Alice's face, she added, "Still, in this case, the child is so young that I really think there would be no harm, except that the manager might object to having the little girl disturbed between the acts."

"I'll inquire," said Papa.

The manager was most obliging. Managers generally are, I fancy, when Mayors express wishes. "Mademoiselle Mignon," he said, "would be very pleased and proud to receive Miss Flower, if she would take the trouble to come behind the scenes." So Alice, trembling with excitement, went with Papa behind the big green curtain. She had fancied it a sort of fairy world; but instead she found a great bare, disorderly place.

Sawdust was scattered on the ground; huge boxes were standing about, some empty, some half unpacked. From farther away came sounds of loud voices talking and disputing, and the stamping of horses' feet. It was neither a pretty or a pleasant place; and Alice, feeling shy and half frightened, held Papa's hand tight, and squeezed it very hard as they waited.

Pretty soon the manager came to them with Mignon beside him. She looked smaller and more childish than she had done on horseback. A little plaid shawl was pinned over her gauzy dress to keep her warm. Alice lost her fears at once. She realized that here was no fairy princess, but a little girl like herself. Mignon's face was no less sweet when seen so near. Her cheeks were the loveliest pink imaginable. Her blue eyes looked up frankly and trustfully. When the Mayor spoke to her she blushed and made a pretty courtesy, clasping Alice's hand very tight in hers, but saying nothing.

"The performances will recommence in ten minutes," said Signor Currie, consulting his watch. Then he and the Mayor moved a little aside and began talking together, leaving the little girls to make acquaintance.

"I saw you this morning," said Alice.

Mignon nodded and smiled.

"Oh, did you see me? I thought you did, but I wasn't sure, because we were up so high. Aunty and I thought the procession was beautiful. But I liked your horse best of all. Is he gentle?"

"Pluto? oh, he's very gentle," replied Mignon. "Only now and then he gets a little wild when the people hurrah and clap very loud. But he always knows me."

"How beautifully you do ride," went on Alice. "It looks just like flying when you jump through the hoops. I wish I knew how. Is it very hard to do?"

"No--except when I get tired. Then I don't do it well. But as long as the music plays I don't feel tired. Sometimes before I come out I am frightened, and think I can't do it at all, but then I hear the band begin, and I know I can. Oh! don't you love music?"

"Y--es," said Alice wonderingly, for Mignon's eyes sparkled and her face flushed as she asked this question. "I like music when it's pretty."

"I love it so _so_ much," went on Mignon confidentially. "It's like flowers--and colors--all sorts of things--sunsets too. Our band plays beautifully, don't you think so? It makes me feel as if I could do any thing in the world, fly or dance on the air,--any thing! It's quite different when they stop. Then I don't want to jump or spring, but just to sit still. If they would keep on playing always, I don't believe I should ever get tired."

"How funny!" said the practical Alice. "I never feel that way at all.

Aunty says I haven't got a bit of ear for music. Did you see Aunty at the window this morning when you looked up?"

"Was that your Aunty? I thought it was your Mamma."

"No; I haven't got any Mamma. She died when I was a little baby. I don't remember her a bit."

"Neither do I mine," said Mignon wistfully. "Mr. Currie says he guesses I never had any. Do you think I could? Little girls always have Mammas, don't they?"

"But haven't you an Aunty or any thing?" cried Alice.

Mignon shook her head.

"No," she said. "No Aunty."

"Why! Who takes care of you?"

"Oh, they all take care of me," replied Mignon smiling. "Madame Orley,--that's Mrs. Currie, you know,--she's very kind. She curls my hair and fastens my frock in the morning, and she always dresses me for the performance herself. Mr. Currie,--he's kind too. He gave me these anklets and my silver bracelets and two rings--see--one with a blue stone and one with a red stone. Aren't they pretty? Goo-Goo is nice too.

He taught me to write last year. And old Jerry,--that's the head groom, you know,--he's the kindest of all. He says I'm like his little granddaughter that died, and wherever we go he almost always buys me a present. Look what he gave me this morning," putting her hand into the bosom of her frock and pulling out an ivory needle-case. "I keep it here for fear it'll get lost. There's always such a confusion when we only stop one night in a place."

"Isn't it pretty," said Alice admiringly. "I'm glad Jerry gave it to you. But I wish you had an Aunty, because mine is so nice."

"Or a Mamma," said Mignon thoughtfully. "If I only had a Mamma of my own, and music which would play _all the time_ and never stop, I should be just happy. I wouldn't mind the Enchanted Steed then,--or any thing."

"What's the Enchanted Steed?" asked Alice.

"Oh,--one of the things I do. It's harder than the rest, so I don't like it quite so well. You'll see--it's the grand _finale_ to-night."

A sharp little bell tinkled.

"That's to ring up the curtain," said Mignon. "I must go. Thank you so much for coming to see me."

"Oh, wait one minute!" cried Alice, diving into her pocket. "Yes, I thought so. Here's my silver thimble. Won't you take it for a keepsake, dear, to go with your needle-book, you know? And don't forget me, because I never, never shall forget you. My name's Alice,--Alice Flower."

"How pretty!" cried Mignon, looking admiringly at the thimble. "How kind you are! Good-by."

"Kiss your hand to me from the back of the horse, won't you, please?"

said Alice. "That will be splendid! Good-by, dear, good-by."

The two children kissed each other; then Mignon ran away, tucking the thimble into her bosom as she went.

"O Aunty! you never saw such a darling little thing as she is!" cried Alice, when they had got back to the box. "So sweet, and so pretty, prettier than any of the little girls we know, Aunty. I'm sure you'd think so if you saw her near. She hasn't any Mamma either, and no Aunty or any thing. She wishes so much she had. But she says all the circus people are real kind to her. You can't think how much she loves music.

If the band would play all the time, she could fly, she says, or do any thing else that was hard. It was so queer to hear her talk about it. I never saw any little girl that I liked so much. I wish she was my sister, my own true sister; really I do, Aunty."

"Why, Alice, I never knew you so excited about anybody before," remarked Miss Flower.

"O Aunty! she isn't _anybody_; she's quite different from common people.

How I wish she'd hurry and come out again. She promised to kiss her hand to me from the horse's back, Papa. Won't that be splendid?"