"If I stopped away, at least I wouldn't tell fibs about it," said Merle.
Both the Ramsays agreed that it was very unsporting of Miss Pollard to refuse the holiday, and decided to get up a sort of eleventh-hour petition amongst the girls to ask her to grant it. They hurried on to school, therefore, not without hopes, though a little trembling as to how she would receive the appeal. They arrived at The Moorings to find the hive in a delighted ferment. The Vicar, Mr. Carey, had returned home to lunch, and had read Miss Pollard's note, and had sent a reply by his daughters to the effect that in his opinion the circus was a most harmless and innocent form of entertainment, and that it would be a pity for the girls to miss it. He suggested, indeed, that the whole school should visit the show en bloc. The Misses Pollard, being themselves daughters of the late clergyman, set a high value on clerical sanction. The Vicar's letter settled the matter.
"If Mr. Carey approves, it must be perfectly right," fluttered Miss Fanny.
"I'm so glad to know what he thinks about it," agreed her sister.
The poor ladies were really anxious to give their boarders a treat, and as the day girls were already assembled, and time was flying, they decided to adopt the suggestion, and march the whole school in an orderly crocodile to the tent. Just before they started, a small village boy came running up the lane and delivered a note. Miss Pollard tore it open hastily.
"Dear me! How unfortunate," she exclaimed. "Opal ill with a bad headache. The child was perfectly all right this morning. Thank you, there's no answer. Now, girls, take your partners and form into double line. Quietly, quietly! Not so much talking! Iva and Nesta first. Where's Mademoiselle? Has Mamie brought her scarf? Those tents are sometimes very draughty. Betty, if you can't behave you'll be left behind! Are you ready? Then quick march!"
It was very exciting indeed to file along the High Street and across the bridge on to the meadow, and more thrillsome still to enter the big circular tent with its green canvas roof flapping in the breeze. The seats were only wooden planks covered with red baize, and swayed about when people sat upon them, but Durracombe audiences were not accustomed to luxuries, and the juvenile portion would have cheerfully sat anywhere to watch the show. A caravan drawn up by the entrance acted as pay desk, and a big, fat gipsy-looking woman took the money and said, 'Thank you very much' to those who bought the more expensive tickets. The school secured a block of reserved seats all to itself, and the girls settled themselves with little ones in front, and big ones behind. In the middle of the tent was a large circle strewn with sawdust, and the spectators were ranged round this as in a Roman amphitheatre. Through the open door opposite might be caught a glimpse of horses standing outside. A very large part of the audience was composed of children. Most of them had been waiting in a queue for a long while before entering, and they were over-excited and tired. They were all impatience for the performance to begin, and the hum of their little voices sounded like the buzzing of bees. Through the gaps between the walls and the roof of the tent long shafts of sunlight streamed like Jacob's ladders over the heads of the children, and into the sawdust circle. One almost expected elves and fairies to slide down them and perform on the magic ring. One tiny boy, tired of waiting, strayed from his place, and stood a moment under one of these shafts of light like a fair-haired cherub. The spectators cheered him as if he were part of the programme.
The contingent from The Moorings were sitting close to the main entrance, and as their united glances strayed round the tent they presently began to nudge each other and focus their gaze in one particular direction. Miss Pollard, aware of the undercurrent, looked also. What she saw caused her to take out her lorgnettes and stare amazedly through them to satisfy herself that failing eyesight had not produced an illusion. On the other side of the tent, exactly opposite to their party, sitting on a red-baize-covered reserved seat, was Opal—Opal who was supposed to be lying on her bed prostrate with headache, and whom she had pitied for missing the treat. Miss Fanny had also just made the same discovery. The sisters glanced at one another, and drew their own conclusions. If Opal had turned rather white at the entrance of the school party, she had apparently recovered from the shock, and was bluffing the matter out. She was sitting with some friends, girls much older than herself, and was laughing and chatting as if in thorough enjoyment.
And now at last, after much tiresome delay and waiting, the show began. Through the far door was seen a vision of men in gay costumes, and the strains of a band were heard.
"O-o-o-oh!" came from the children all round, as the procession streamed into the tent. It was headed by the band, then followed piebald horses with riders in gorgeous velvet costumes or spangled dresses; there were Roman chariots, and a drove of tiny ponies, and an Eastern lady on a camel, and several funny men who bounced about like india-rubber balls, and three stately elephants, and some wild-looking Red Indians in war-paint and feathers. These all paraded round the ring to allow the audience to have a good view of them, then went off again, so that the programme might proceed in its separate items.