On the strength of these false promises Darby agreed to accept the hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. Harris for the night. But he did not see the glances of triumph, greed, cunning, and cruelty which passed between the pair; and if he had, the single-hearted child would not have understood their significance.
It was a strange scene on which Darby Dene's eyes rested when the party halted at the hollow where the Satellite Circus Company had made their headquarters for the night. Within the shelter of the firs a fire of crackling sticks was burning brightly. Hanging over the flame, suspended by an iron chain from the centre of three crossed metal bars, swung a big black pot, from which there came such a savoury smell that, in spite of his disappointment over the break in their journey, Darby could not help thinking it a lucky thing that they were going to get a share. A lad of about twelve years old was feeding the fire from a pile of dry branches that lay by his side—a lad with short woolly curls, shining, gleaming white teeth, thick lips, and a skin as dark as if he had been blackleaded all over. He was a negro, Darby knew. He had seen a black man only once before, and he now stared at this boy as if he could not remove his gaze. The lad's clothes, too, were queer. He had on a dingy purple velvet jacket, covered with frayed gold lace, tawdry tinsel braid, tarnished gilt buttons, with long, wide red and white striped cotton trousers, from which his dusky ankles and bare flat feet flopped about like the fins of some great ungainly fish.
Squatted on the grass, on the further side of the fire from the black boy, was a small figure which Darby at first thought was that of a child. But when at the sound of Joe Harris's footsteps it rose, moved slowly close to the crossbars, stood on tiptoe, lifted the lid, peered into the steaming pot, then—with the firelight falling full upon it—he saw that this was not a child; it was a man.
But what sort of a man? Was he a real man, or only a make-believe, such as was sometimes seen at shows and fairs? Darby knew about dwarfs, certainly, although he had never seen one, and at last he concluded that this must be a dwarf—this small creature not much taller than Joan, yet with a huge, broad-shouldered body, square and solid as Moll's own, overgrown head, covered with a thick mop of heavy dark hair, pale, sad face, weary eyes, short, stunted legs, large feet, and the longest arms, the thinnest hands Darby had ever seen in all his life. This was Bambo—Bambo, Mr. Harris's musical dwarf! and the boy shrank instinctively behind the shelter of Moll's ample skirts, scarcely knowing whether he was more attracted or repelled by the ungainly body, which, as the little ones discovered somewhat later on, housed such a beautiful soul within.
But what is that beside the dwarf—that great, soft-looking object that is just for all the world like a big brown furry bundle, with a tiny, chattering, jabbering monkey, decked out in all the bravery of scarlet coat and jaunty forage cap, perched on top of it? Darby steals forward step by step to get a closer view. The bundle of fur unrolls itself, grunts and turns over as if quite ready for a frolic with its queer comrade, and the little lad leaps back in terror. For it is a bear, gaunt and grizzly, with funny snout and blinking eyes!
Darby did not notice that the monster was chained, and he moved back again behind Moll, whence he gazed fascinated upon the grotesque group, over which the leaping flames cast such weird and curious lights and shadows.
The gaudy yellow caravan was drawn up on one side, and with the screen of trees served as an effective background to the scene. The skinny piebald horses had been unloosed from its shafts, freed of their harness, and, with rude fetters on their legs, turned adrift to seek their supper among the coarse grass and springy heather spreading so bountifully around them upon every side.