“O, mamma!” cried the child, “if you only knew how much poor Frank wants to go to the circus this afternoon; I’ve been up by the wall looking at the procession go by.”
“Hush, Kate; your father is only just. Frank wanted to earn money for himself like other boys, and do you think if he were working for any farmer that that farmer would let his corn spoil, as Frank is letting his, running off day after day? No. If he goes away again until the last hill is hoed, your father will take it away from him.”
Poor Kate glanced back toward the field. She knew just where the hoe stood, gleaming in the sunshine, a witness that her brother was at that very moment neglecting his work. She hastened to her own room, washed her burning face, and then went to school in the village.
Frank was on the mound in time to see the “great show” go past. On the pony in the rear, looking neither at the swaying figures in the chariot, nor at the long line of cages that followed after, was the boy with the sadness in his eyes. A bobolink, thoughtless fellow, struck up a song of gladness as he wavered through the air from tree to tree. Frank, listening to the band of music, did not hear the delight of the bird, but the boy on the pony did. He wiped his eyes with his jacket sleeve two or three times, and wiped them yet again. Frank had drawn close to the roadside. He was near enough to the lad to speak to him.
“Do you belong to the circus?” he ventured to ask.
“Yes,” was the reply.
“What do you do?”
“Wash the dishes, when I don’t ride this pony.”
“Circus dishes!” exclaimed Frank, “that’s funny.” And the desire to learn something more led him to walk along. He could easily keep step with the progress of the chariot and elephants.
Presently he asked, “Do you like it?”