"You can't be Mr. Tisbett if you're Bill," said Polly, in distress. "Oh, Joel, some one else must be stage-driver."
"This isn't stage-driver," corrected Joel, in a superior way. "Hoh! don't you know anything, Polly Pepper! It's circus! And the horses do things. I saw 'em in the big picture."
"Well, then, I can be Mr. Tisbett," said Polly, tingling to her finger-tips at the prospect.
"Mr. Tisbett isn't a girl," said Joel, in scorn.
"But I can put on Ben's coat, and you can tell 'em I'm Mr. Tisbett, same's you introduce all the animals," persuasively said Polly, feeling as if nothing could be quite as nice as to be Mr. Tisbett and manage those black horses.
"Yes, let Polly be Mr. Tisbett," begged little David, longing to be that personage himself. "She'll make the circus splendid."
"All right," said Joel. "Well, I'm going to jump through the paper hoops, anyway, on Ben's back. Are they safe?" he asked anxiously.
"Yes, indeed," said Polly, who had a terrible time in making them, Joel being the most critical of individuals, "as safe as can be, in the bedroom cupboard;" and she ran off to get them, but not so fast as Joel, who rushed eagerly past her.
"Take care, Joe, you mustn't get 'em," warned Polly, dashing into the bedroom at his heels. But too late! Joel's hands were on the paper rings, and he clutched them so tightly that, lo and behold, one little brown fist went clear through one of them, to come out on the other side!
"Now, see," began Polly, desperately. Joel gave one look, then burst into a flood of tears.