Elverson needed no second invitation to wait. He was congratulating himself upon his good fortune, when he all but collided with a flying apparition, vanishing in the direction of the main tent. Sophisticated eyes would have seen only a rather stout acrobat clad in pink tights; but Elverson was not sophisticated, and he teetered after the flitting angel, even unto the forbidden portals of the "big top."

He was peeping through the curtains which had fallen behind her, and was getting his first glimpse of the great, sawdust world beyond, when one of the clowns dashed from the dressing tent on his way to the ring.

The clown was late. He saw the limp coat tails of the deacon, who was three-quarters in the tent. Here was a chance to make a funny entrance.

He grabbed the unsuspecting little man from the rear. The terrified deacon struck out blindly in all directions, his black arms and legs moving like centipede, but the clown held him firmly by the back and thrust him, head foremost, into the tent.

Strong returned almost immediately from his unsuccessful search for the pastor. He looked about the lot for Elverson.

"Hey, there, Elverson!" he called l.u.s.tily. There was no response.

"Now where's he got to," grumbled Strong. He disappeared quickly around the corner of the dressing tent, resolved to keep a sharp lookout for Douglas.

Elverson was thrust from the tent soon after, spitting sawdust and much discomfited by the laughing performers who followed him. His knees almost gave way beneath him when Barker came out of the ring, snapping his long, black whip.

"Get out of here, you bloke!" roared Barker. And Elverson "got."

No one had remembered to tell the groom that Polly was not to ride to-night. So Bingo was brought out as usual, when their "turn"

approached.

"Take him back, Tom," Polly called from the entrance, when she learned that Bingo was waiting, "and bring Barbarian. I'm not going on to-night.

Eloise is going to ride in my place."

This was the second time to-day that Bingo had been led away without going into the ring. Something in his big, wondering eyes made Polly follow him and apologise. He was very proud, was Bingo, and very conscientious. He felt uneasy when he saw the other horses going to their work without him.

"Never mind, Bingo," she said, patting his great, arched neck, "we'll show 'em to-morrow." He rubbed his satiny nose against her cheek. "We'll make them SIT UP again. Barker says our act's no good--that I've let down. But it's not YOUR fault, Bingo. I've not been fair to you. I'll give you a chance to-morrow. You wait. He'll never say it again, Bingo!

Never again!" She watched him go out of the lot, and laughed a little as he nipped the attendant on the arm. He was still irritated at not going into the ring.

Polly had nothing more to do to-night except to get into her street clothes. The wagons would soon be moving away. For a moment she glanced at the dark church steeple, then she turned to go inside the tent. A deep, familiar voice stopped her.

"Polly!"

She turned quickly. She could not answer. Douglas came toward her. He gazed at her in amazement. She drew her cape about her slightly clad figure. She seemed older to him, more unapproachable with her hair heaped high and sparkling with jewels. Her bodice of satin and lace shimmered through the opening of her cape. The moonlight lent mystery and indecision to her betinselled attire. The band was playing the andante for the balancing act.

She found strength at last to open her lips, but still no sound came from them. She and the pastor looked at each other strangely, like spirits newly met from far-apart worlds. She, too, thought her companion changed. He was older, the circles beneath his eyes were deeper, the look in their depths more grave.

"We were such close neighbours to-day, I--I rather thought you'd call,"

he stammered. He was uncertain what he was saying--it did not matter--he was there with her.

"When you're in a circus there isn't much time for calling."

"That's why I've come to call on you." They might have been sheppherd and sheppherdess on a May-day wooing, for the halting way in which their words came.

"You're all right?" he went on. "You're happy?"

"Yes, very," she said. Her eyes were downcast.

He did not believe her, the effort in her voice, her drawn, white face belied her words. How COULD he get the truth from her?

"Jim said you might not want to see me."

She started.

"Has Jim been talking to you?"

"Yes, but I didn't let him stop me, for you told me the day you left that you'd never change--toward me. Have you, Poll?" He studied her, anxiously.

"Why, no, of course not," she said, evasively.

"And you'll be quite frank when I ask you something?"

"Yes, of course." She was growing more and more uneasy. She glanced about for a way of escape.

"Why did you leave me as you did?"

"I told you then." She tried to cross toward the dressing tent.

He stepped quickly in front of her.

"You aren't answering FRANKLY, and you aren't happy."

She was growing desperate. She felt she must get away, anywhere, anywhere.

He seized her small wrists and forced her to look at him.

"And _I_ am not happy without YOU, and I never, NEVER can be." The floodgates were open, his eyes were aglow, he bent toward her eagerly.

"Oh, you mustn't," she begged. "You MUSTN'T."

"You've grown so close," he cried. "So close!" She struggled to be free.

He did not heed her. "You know--you must know what I mean." He drew her toward him and forced her into his arms. "You're more precious to me than all else on this earth."

For the first time he saw the extreme pallor on her face. He felt her growing limp and lifeless in his arms. A doubt crossed his mind. "If I am wrong in thinking you feel as I do, if you honestly care for all this," he glanced about at the tents, "more than for any life that I can give you, I shan't interfere. You'll be going on your way in an hour.

I'll say good-bye and G.o.d bless you; but if you do care for me, Polly,"

he was pleading now, "if you're NOT happy here--won't you come back to me? Won't you, Polly?"

She dared not meet his eyes, nor yet to send him away. She stood irresolute. The voice of Deacon Strong answered for her.

"So! You're HERE, are you?"

"Yes, Deacon Strong, I'm here," answered the pastor, as he turned to meet the accusing eyes of the deacon, who had come quickly from behind the dressing tent.

"As for you, miss," continued Strong, with an insolent nod toward Polly, "I might have known how you'd keep your part of the bargain."

"Bargain?" echoed Douglas. "What bargain?"

"Oh, please, Deacon Strong, please. I didn't mean to see him, I didn't, truly." She hardly knew what she was saying.

"What bargain?" demanded Douglas sternly.