"We're all very much interested in the circus," said Douglas. "Can't you tell us about it?"

"I just went into the lot to look for my son," stammered the deacon. "I feared Peter had strayed."

"Why, deacon," said Mrs. Willoughby. "I just stopped by your house and saw Mrs. Elverson putting Peter to bed."

The deacon was saved from further embarra.s.sment by an exclamation from Julia, who had stayed at the window. "Oh, look; something has happened!"

she cried. "There's a crowd. They are coming this way."

Douglas crossed quickly to Julia's side, and saw an excited mob collecting before the entrance to the main tent. He had time to discover no more before Mandy burst in at the door, panting with excitement and rolling her large, white-rimmed eyeb.a.l.l.s.

"Mars John, a little circus girl done fall off her hoss!" she cried.

"Dr. Hartley say can dey bring her in heah?"

"Of course," said Douglas, hurrying outside.

There were horrified exclamations from the women, who were aghast at the idea of a circus rider in the parsonage. In their helpless indignation, they turned upon the little deacon, feeling intuitively that he was enjoying the drama. Elverson was retreating toward the door when he was suddenly thrust aside by Douglas.

In the young pastor's arms was a white, spangled burden of humanity, her slender arm hung lifeless over his shoulder. The silk stocking was torn from one bruised ankle; her hair fell across her face, veiling it from the unfriendly glances of the women. Douglas pa.s.sed out of sight up the stairway without looking to the right or left, followed by the doctor.

Mandy reached the front door in time to push back a crowd of intruders.

She had barely closed the door when it was thrust open by Jim.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"Go 'way f'um here!" cried Mandy, as her eyes unconsciously sought the stairs.

Jim followed the direction of her glance, and cleared the steps at a bound. Mandy pursued him, muttering angrily. Deacon Elverson, too, was about to follow, when a grim reminder from Miss Perkins brought him around and he made for the door instead. He started back on opening it, for standing on the threshold was a clown in his grotesque "make-up"; his white clothes were partially concealed by a large, travelling ulster, held together by one b.u.t.ton. In one hand he carried a small leather satchel; in the other a girl's sailor hat; a little tan coat was thrown across his arm. The giggles of the boy hiding behind his mother's skirt were the only greetings received by the trembling old man in the doorway.

He glanced uncertainly from one unfriendly face to the other, waiting for a word of invitation to enter; but none came.

"Excuse me," he said; "I just brought some of her little things. She'd better put on her coat when she goes out. It's gettin' kinder chilly."

He looked again into the blank faces; still no one spoke. He stepped forward, trembling with anxiety. A sudden fear clutched at his heart, the muscles of his face worked pitifully, the red painted lips began to quiver.

"It ain't--It ain't that, is it?" he faltered, unable to utter the word that filled him with horror.

Even Miss Perkins was momentarily touched by the anguish in the old man's voice. "I guess you will find the person you are looking for upstairs," she answered tartly; and flounced out of the house, calling to Julia and the others to follow her, and declaring that she would soon let folks know how the parson had brought a "circus ridin' girl" into the parsonage.

The painted clown stood alone, looking from one wall to the other, then he crossed the room and placed the alligator satchel and the little coat and hat on the study table. He was careful not to wrinkle the coat, for this was Polly's birthday gift. Jim and he had planned to have sandwiches and soda pop on the top of the big wagon when they offered their treasures tonight; but now the wagons would soon be leaving--and where was Polly? He turned to ask this question as Mandy came down the stairs.

"Well, if dar ain't anudder one," she cried.

"Never mind, Mandy," said Douglas, who was just behind her, carrying a small water pitcher, and searching for a bottle of brandy which had been placed in the medicine chest for emergencies.

"You can take these upstairs," he told her, when he had filled the pitcher with water and found the liquor. Mandy looked threateningly at Toby, then reluctantly went on her way.

Douglas turned to the old man pleasantly. His was the first greeting that Toby had received, and he at last found voice to ask whether Polly was badly hurt.

"The doctor hasn't told us yet," said Douglas, kindly.

"I'm her Uncle Toby--not her REAL uncle," the old man explained, "but that's what she calls me. I couldn't come out right away, because I'm on in the concert. Could I see her now, please?"

"Here's the doctor," said Douglas, as Hartley came down the stairs, followed by Jim. "Well, doctor, not bad, I hope?"

"Yes, rather bad," said the doctor, adding quickly, as he saw the suffering in Toby's face, "but don't be alarmed. She's going to get well."

"How long will it be before we can have her back--before she can ride again?" asked Jim gruffly, as he stood apart, twisting his brown, worn hat in his hands.

"Probably several months," said the doctor. "No bones are broken, but the ligaments of one ankle are torn, and she received a bad blow on the head. It will be some time before she recovers consciousness." "What are we goin' to do, Jim?" asked Toby, helplessly.

"You needn't worry, we'll take good care of her here," said Douglas, seeing desperation written on their faces.

"Here?" They looked at him incredulously.--And this was a parson!

"Where are her parents?" the doctor asked, looking at Jim and Toby.

"She ain't got no parents 'cept Toby an' me," replied Jim. "We've took care of her ever since she was a baby."

"Oh, I see," said the doctor. "Well, one of you'd better stay here until she can be moved."

"That's the trouble; we can't," said Toby, hanging his head. "You see, sir, circus folks is like soldiers. No matter what happens, the show has to go on, and we got to be in our places."

"Well, well, she'll be safe enough, here," said the doctor. "It is a fortunate thing that Mr. Douglas can manage this. Our town hospital burned down a few months ago, and we've been rather puzzled as to what to do with such cases." He took his leave with a cheery "Good night,"

and a promise to look in upon the little patient later. Jim shuffled awkwardly toward the pastor.

"It's mighty good of you to do this," he mumbled, "but she ain't goin'

to be no charity patient. Me and Toby is goin' to look after her keep."

"Her wants will be very few," Douglas answered, kindly. "You needn't trouble much about that."

"I mean it," said Jim, savagely. He met Douglas's glance of surprise with a determined look, for he feared that his chance of being useful to Polly might be slipping out of his life.

"You mustn't mind Jim," the clown pleaded at the pastor's elbow. "You see pain gets some folks different from others; and it always kinder makes him savage."

"Oh, that's all right," Douglas answered, quickly. His own life had been so lonely, that he could understand the selfish yearning in the big man's heart. "You must do what you think best about these things; Mandy and I will look after the rest."

Jim hung his head, feeling somehow that the pastor had seen straight into his heart and discovered his petty weakness. He was about to turn toward the door when it was thrown open by Barker.

"Where is she?" shouted the manager, looking from one to the other.

"She can't come," said Jim in a low, steady voice, for he knew the storm of opposition with which Barker would meet the announcement.

"Can't come?" shrieked Barker. "Of course she'll come. I can't get along without her. She's GOT to come." He looked at Jim, who remained silent and firm. "WHY ain't she comin'?" he asked, feeling himself already defeated.

"She's hurt bad," was Jim's laconic reply.

"The devil she is!" said Barker, looking at Douglas for confirmation.

"Is that right?"