"Mi-rac-ulous!" said Bigelow.
"Treat him very tenderly," continued the keeper; "liable to lose him any moment; cost a great sum; but we don't mind that—it is our business—we will satisfy the public."
Bigelow introduced Mrs. Bird, Mrs. Swipes, and Mrs. Longbow to the Ichneumon, who did not happen to be present and hear the keeper's remarks, and repeated in low breath the information which he had just derived, with suitable and appropriate remarks of his own. For his part, he said, he was paid. He had seen the sacred animal called the Ichneumon; and he managed to weave him into a sermon which he preached some weeks afterwards, in which he identified him as clearly as he did when inspecting the poster at the Eagle.
Jim Buzzard was present during all the exercises. He crawled in under the canvas at rather a late hour, but appeared in time to see all that was to be seen. He made very few comments upon the animals. He took a very long look at the elephant, who seemed to just strike his fancy. Jim was a picture, and so was the elephant. As he stood in rags gaping at the monster, it seemed as if he was magnetized to the ground. He examined him up and down, looked under him, and over him, and at last, after having digested all there was about him, he scratched his head and said, "O, Gosh!"
But all things must have an end, and the grand caravan, in time, came to its end. The last performance, which was intended as the climax to the whole day's proceedings, and which had been looked forward to by the Puddlefordians with the most enthusiastic feeling, was the "ostrich and monkey ride." The poster had painted this affair in shining colors, and it was finally announced by the keeper, amid a tempest of applause. It is not in my power to describe this ride. The monkey rode the ostrich, as promised, carrying a whip in his hand—and then the monkey took another round on the ostrich, carrying something else—and then again and again, each time under renewed and stronger vociferations from the multitude, until I really began to think that the monkey and ostrich were certain to transport the crowd into hysterics, and cover themselves with immortal glory.
When the afternoon shadows began to lengthen over the green, the tent, which had so recently gone up by magic, as suddenly dissolved, and the people dissolved too. The show was over, and there were scores of people who were twenty or thirty miles from home, jaded and nearly out of money. Puddleford was in an uproar in the general preparation for a departure. The showmen were packing their monkeys, ostrich, and ichneumon, temporarily hobbling their elephant, and counting up the proceeds of the day, and making ready for a fresh swindle upon some adjacent town. The women were dealing out gingerbread to squalling children to fortify their stomachs against the journey of the night. The men were settling up their bills at the Eagle; and all was bustle and commotion.
Aunt Sonora hurried home and "took a nap;" she had passed such a day; "was," as she said, "nearly killed in the morning, and skeer'd to death in the arternoon, that it seemed as if she should fly off the handle; her head danc'd round like a top; see if they could catch her at any more of their powwows; their lions and their monkeys might go to grass, for all her; she'd not look at 'em agin; that's what she wouldn't—there warn't nothin' so grand 'bout 'em, arter all, as folks tell'd on—she wouldn't use up herself agin for any such strolling critters—not she."
The procession formed in a line, just at twilight, to take its farewell. A knot of urchins, and twenty or more Puddlefordians, were all that were left of the pride and pomp of the morning to see them safely on their way. The band struck up a lively air, the wagons moved forward, and soon had wound away out of sight; and all settled down again into the most profound tranquillity.