"Naughty boy!" chided Little Dimples, tapping the neck of her mount with the little riding crop she carried. "You would spoil him in no time. I must be going, now. I hope we shall see you at the show this afternoon, Mrs. Cahill," smiled Dimples, her face breaking out into dimples and smiles.
The widow nodded.
"This afternoon and tonight. She is going to dine with us under the cook tent this afternoon," Phil informed the rider.
"That will be fine."
Dimples nodded, tossed her whip in the air and clucking to Cinders, went bounding over the fence. A moment more and she had taken her place in the line and was moving along with the procession, bowing and smiling.
"That's what I call right fine," glowed Mrs. Cahill. "Did you say that little thing was Mrs. Robinson?"
"Yes."
"Why, she looks like a young girl."
"That's what I thought when I first saw her. But she has a son as old as I am."
"Land sakes!" wondered Mrs. Cahill. "You never can tell about these circus folks, anyhow."