"All right?" demanded the white-head. "Let go!"
He dropped her. She stood upright, and unhurt, but swayed a little, weakly. The next instant he was down and stood, breathing quickly, before her.
"Why—why—why!" gasped Agnes. Just like that! "Why, you did that just like a circus."
Oddly enough the white-haired boy scowled and a dusky color came slowly into his naturally pale cheek.
"What do you say that for?" he asked, dropping his gaze, and picking up his cap and jacket. "What do you mean—circus?"
"Why," said Agnes, breathlessly, "just like one of those acrobats that fly over the heads of the people, and do all those curious things in the air——Why! you know."
"How do I know?" demanded the boy, quite fiercely.
It became impressed upon Agnes' mind that the stranger was angry. She did not know why, and she only felt gratitude—and curiosity—toward him.
"Didn't you ever go to a circus?" she asked, slowly.
The boy hesitated. Then he said, bluntly: "No!" and Agnes knew it was the truth, for he looked now unwaveringly into her eyes.