“I’ve nothing else to do,” was the reply.
“What’s your name? Mine is Frank Hallock, and I live in the house up yonder,” pointing, with a feeling very like pride, to the distant gables and chimneys that represented his home.
“My name’s Harry Cornwall,” replied the boy, glancing toward the place Frank had pointed out.
“Where’s the circus going to be?”
“We’ve got most there,” said the boy, “and I’m glad of it, for I want my breakfast.”
“No breakfast yet? Why it must be nine o’clock. Come home with me and I’ll give you some right off.”
“O, I can’t. I told you I had the dishes to wash, and there’ll be an awful hurry to-day, for it rained in the night, and we’re late.”
“I wish I could see you do it.”
“Nothing’s easier, if you come on and follow me. The first tent that goes up will be for the breakfast.”
“It will be most as good as the circus, its own self,” thought Frank, and forgetting Kate, his hoe, and his corn, he followed on, until the long procession came to the ground where the great display of animals and human dexterity was to be made.