"Carryin' water for the ellifants," said Jerry, through his tears.

"Do you remember any of the chorus?"

Jerry thought hard, but finally shook his head. Whiteface then started to repeat the chorus:

"'Ho, ye drowsy drones! The Queen is a-thirst; A penny for him who brings a pail first.

Hurry and scurry--'"

Jerry suddenly found that he did remember what came next and interrupted his father:

"'--an' go at a prance!'"

"That's it!" cried Mrs. Bowe.

"'Run to the spring,'" quoted Mr. Bowe and Jerry finished:

"'--an' back at a dance.

Bringing water for the ellifants!'"

Jerry felt so proud of himself for having remembered so much that he forgot all about the man with the red scar and being afraid of him.

"I 'membered it, didn't I, Whiteface?"

"Yes," answered the clown, "you did, and it proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that you are my lost little son and you've got the right to call me father."

"Father," said Jerry experimentally, trying to see how it sounded. And then "Father!" he cried exultantly.

"And not mother, too?" asked the elephant-lady in a reproachful tone.

"And Mother!" cried Jerry, sliding out of his father's arms and running to her. He climbed upon her lap and buried his face on her shoulder and gave her neck a very hard hug, just to show how much he was going to love her.

"Oh, you are my own darling, loving Gary!" she cried in a voice that was tearful, but very joyful through the tearfulness, while she almost squeezed the breath out of Jerry again. "And now we must go at once and thank kind, good Mrs. Mullarkey for caring for our boy."

"Yes," said her husband. "The circus is out and we will have time before the evening performance."

"Mother 'Larkey will be awful glad to see the circus," Jerry remarked.

"She ain't seen none since just after she was married. An' so will Nora and Celia Jane."

CHAPTER XII

THE DIZZY SEAT OF GLORY

"You boys wait here while Helen and I get ready," said Whiteface, "and then we'll pay our respects to Mrs. Mullarkey and Nora and Celia Jane and Kathleen."

"You won't go out of the tent, will you, Gary?" asked the elephant-lady.

"No'm," Jerry promised, and then at the look of disappointment and longing on her face, cried, "No, Mother!" He ran and gave her a good-by hug. "I'll wait right here."

When Jerry and Danny and Chris were left alone, there was an abashed silence at first, broken after a minute by Chris' remarking:

"Gee, ain't it excitin', Jerry! Findin' your father and mother an' being lifted up in a el'funt's trunk an' your father a clown in the circus and all?"

"Yes," smiled Jerry with satisfaction. "He's the greatest clown ever lived."

"I guess that's so," Danny stated judicially and also apologetically, for he wished to make up with Jerry for getting his circus ticket away from him.

"It is so!" cried Jerry emphatically.

"That's what I meant, Jerry--I mean, Gary." A silence fell and then Danny continued: "I wish I'd never of asked Celia Jane to cry and get your ticket away from you."

Jerry said nothing, as he remembered how Danny had tricked him, and Danny, after shifting about uneasily, added as though in justification of his action:

"If I hadn't of, you'd probably never of met your father. He couldn't of spoken to you if he hadn't seen you before you got into the circus."

That impressed Jerry as a point of view that might be true and somehow he didn't feel angry at Danny and Celia Jane any more. He was too happy at having a clown for his father to hold resentment.

"Mebbe not," was all he said, but Danny took those words as meaning that Jerry wasn't going to stay mad.

"How'd you get in?" he asked eagerly.

"Whiteface thought of a way that didn't cost any money," replied Jerry.

"What kind of a way was that?" Danny was all eagerness for information of that sort.

"I don't know," said Jerry. "He thought of something an' told me to keep my eyes shut an' I didn't see what he done."

"Didn't you open 'em jest once?" demanded Danny. "I would of and then mebbe we could of got into other circuses that way."

"It might of mixed our thoughts, like when I said something when he told me not to," Jerry observed.

"What d'you mean, mixin' your thoughts?"

Jerry was saved by the entrance of Mr. Burrows from trying to explain just what he did mean by that, for he hadn't understood very well himself. The circus man was smiling all over as he approached Jerry and seemed just as pleased that Jerry had found his parents as Jerry was himself.

"Well, well, well," he said, holding out a hand which Jerry accepted in the same amicable spirit in which it was offered, "so you're the son of Robert Bowe! We were good friends before you were stolen and I hope will be again when you get reacquainted with me. Maybe your father and mother will be satisfied to stay with the circus now that you have been found."

"Was they goin' to leave the circus?" asked Danny in an awed voice.

"So they said," answered Mr. Burrows, "but now I guess they'll stay."

"Go away an' not be a clown no more?" Jerry asked this new-old friend, as one man to another.

"Go away and not be a clown any more," Mr. Burrows a.s.serted.