"Then I'll have one, and Dave shall be it," decided Joel, veering around.

"And I'll do things," cried little Davie, very much excited, and getting off from his step to hop along the path. "I'll sing."

"That's nothing!" said Joel, in scorn.

"And I'll hop and pick up crumbs," added David, anxious to please and do everything that a well-brought-up bird should do.

"Hoh! that won't be anything!" exclaimed Joel, with a withering look.

"I'll tell you, Joel, let's play that you trained Davie, who's a bird, you know, to drag Seraphina around. We can tie her on a board real nicely."

"Oh, yes, that's prime!" cried Joel, seeing hope ahead for David's bird, if Polly only took hold of it.

"And then you can tell the audience that the trained bird is going to ride on the monkey's back," cried Polly.

"Oh, hooray!" shouted Joel, prancing off to hop with David down the path and over the gra.s.s.

"And then when you've got through showing him off, David must sing a little song to show he is a bird. This way," and Polly threw back her head and twittered twee-dee-ed, and chee-chee-ed, and trilled in a way she had, till the boys looked up in the branches of the old scraggy apple tree to see if there really was any little bird there.

"That's fine!" cried Joel, clapping his hands and drawing a long breath.

"Oh, I never can do it so nice as Polly," said David, in despair, growing quite sober.

"Polly," cried Joel, suddenly, "couldn't you stay behind the bushes and sing? and folks will think it's Dave,--the bird--I mean."

"Why, yes, Joel, if Davie doesn't want to sing," said Polly; "but he's the bird, you know, so it must be as he wants."

"But he can't sing good, you know," said Joel, impatiently.

"I'd rather you'd sing the bird, Polly," said little David, "'cause I can't do it good like you; and I'll _be_ the bird."

And he repressed the sigh he felt like giving.

"Then I will, gladly," said Polly, who loved dearly to sing.

"And, Polly, will you play the band?" cried Joel, who had been so busy getting his various animals planned for and ready, that the music was left out of the reckoning.

"Dear me, Joe!" exclaimed Polly, in consternation. Yet she felt quite flattered. "We haven't any table out here, except the stone one," glancing at it, "and my fingers won't make any noise on that. So I don't see how we can have the band." Polly always made her fingers fly up and down on the kitchen table while she sang, pretending it was a piano and she was a great musician, for it was the dearest wish of her heart to learn to play on a piano.

"Ben can get us a board, I know," cried Joel, confidently; so he ran off to find him in the woodshed, for Ben was home to-day, chopping wood. And pretty soon Joel came running back, proclaiming that Ben had said yes, if Polly would play, that the board should be all ready.

"O dear me!" cried Polly. "Well, then, I must hurry and go in and practise," as she called drumming on the kitchen table; she said this with quite an important air, as she hurried into the house.

"Ben's going to be the elephant, isn't he, Joel?" she asked, turning around in the doorway, for Joel changed his animals about so often it was difficult to keep track of them.

"No," said Joel, "I'm going to be that."

"Why, I thought you were to be the bear," said Polly, in surprise.

"I am, and Mr. Tisbett's black horses, and--"

"You can't be two horses, Joe," said Polly. "Dear me. Ben must be one of them."

"Well, I'm going to be Bill, anyway," said Joel, in alarm. "Ben can be Jerry. And I'm going to be Mr. Tisbett and make 'em go."

"You can't be Mr. Tisbett if you're Bill," said Polly, in distress. "Oh, Joel, some one else must be stage-driver."

"This isn't stage-driver," corrected Joel, in a superior way.

"Hoh! don't you know anything, Polly Pepper! It's circus! And the horses do things. I saw 'em in the big picture."

"Well, then, I can be Mr. Tisbett," said Polly, tingling to her finger-tips at the prospect.

"Mr. Tisbett isn't a girl," said Joel, in scorn.

"But I can put on Ben's coat, and you can tell 'em I'm Mr. Tisbett, same's you introduce all the animals," persuasively said Polly, feeling as if nothing could be quite as nice as to be Mr. Tisbett and manage those black horses.

"Yes, let Polly be Mr. Tisbett," begged little David, longing to be that personage himself. "She'll make the circus splendid."

"All right," said Joel. "Well, I'm going to jump through the paper hoops, anyway, on Ben's back. Are they safe?" he asked anxiously.

"Yes, indeed," said Polly, who had a terrible time in making them, Joel being the most critical of individuals, "as safe as can be, in the bedroom cupboard;" and she ran off to get them, but not so fast as Joel, who rushed eagerly past her.

"Take care, Joe, you mustn't get 'em," warned Polly, dashing into the bedroom at his heels. But too late! Joel's hands were on the paper rings, and he clutched them so tightly that, lo and behold, one little brown fist went clear through one of them, to come out on the other side!

"Now, see," began Polly, desperately. Joel gave one look, then burst into a flood of tears.

"I've spoiled it! I've spoiled it! Oh, I can't jump through it now!" he wailed, still holding them closely. "Oh, Polly, I've spoiled--"

"Well, it's your own fault!" Polly was just going to say, knowing that she would have to make a new one, and where should she get the paper! Then her brow cleared, and she gave a sunny smile. "Never mind, Joey!" she cried. "There, p'r'aps it isn't much hurt," and she took the broken one, and began to smooth it out.

"But it's bursted," cried Joel, trying to look through the rain of tears. "Oh, Polly! I was going to make the hole when I jumped through."

"Um!--" said Polly, busily considering. Then she sat down and rested her elbows on her knees, first setting up the poor bursted ring against the bureau; and, with her chin in her hands, looked at it steadily. "I tell you, Joel, what we'll do," at last she cried; "those edges where it is torn can be pasted together, and--"

"But it'll be a hole!" shouted Joel, who had stopped crying while Polly was thinking, knowing that she would get over the trouble some way. Now he cried worse than ever. "There wasn't goin' to be any hole, till I made one. O dear me!" and he flung himself flat on the floor, to cry as if his heart would break.

"Joe, Joe," cried Polly, running over to him to shake his arm, "you must stop crying this very minute. If you don't, I shall not do anything for your circus. I won't be one of the animals, nor I won't play any music, nor anything."

Joel gave a great gasp. "I'll stop," he promised.

"Well, now, you must stop at once," said Polly, firmly, seeing the advantage she had gained. "So sit up, Joe, that's a good boy," as he very unwillingly brought himself up. "Now, then, I'll tell you what I'm going to do," and Polly seized the poor ring, and, tossing back her brown hair, began to pat and to pull the crooked edges together.

"You see, Joey, I'm going to put a little border of red paper all around it," she said, patting and pulling away, "then it'll be--"

"Oh, now that's goin' to be better than the other one," declared Joel, in huge delight, his round face wreathed in smiles. "And I'm going to break and smash the other one," and he doubled up his brown fist and dashed toward it.

"No, you won't, Joe," cried Polly, in alarm. "I've only red paper enough to go on the broken one, so if anything happens to the other one, deary me! I don't know whatever in the world we could do. Now run and get the cup of paste in the woodshed, and in the shake of a lobster's whisker I'll have it all done," sang Polly, gayly.

"Lobsters don't have whiskers," said Joel, as he ran for the paste cup. "Cats do, Polly, but lobsters don't," as he brought it back.