THE CIRCUS
At the first cross-roads a field wagon containing a farmer, his wife and half-a-dozen children whirled into Andy Wildwood's view. A merry juvenile chorus told Andy that they were bound for the circus.
"Trace loose, mister," he called out as he noticed the trailing strap.
"Whoa," ordered the driver, halting with a jolt, and Andy adjusted the faulty harness and smiled back cheerily at an eager little fellow in the wagon who inquired if he was going to the show, too.
"Jump in, youngster, if ours is your way," invited the farmer.
Andy promptly availed himself of the offer. He sat with his feet dangling over the tailboard. The farther he got from Fairview the less he thought of the manifold troubles and complications he was leaving behind him there.
Andy did not intend to run away from home. He had business in view which demanded his presence in Fairview the next day. He was, however, resolved to go to Centreville. He would at least see the outside of the circus, and could put on the time until evening.
It was only six miles from Fairview to Centreville, and they soon came in sight of the county seat.
Andy caught more and more of the circus fever as they progressed. At every branch road a new string of vehicles joined the procession. They passed gay parties of ruralites on foot. Andy leaped down from the wagon with a "Thank you" to his host, at the first sight of the mammoth white tents over on the village common.
This was the second day of the circus at Centreville. It was scheduled to remain one more day. Its coming was a great event for the town, and the place was crowded with pleasure-seekers.