ix
weeks."

"He wouldn't catch mice," Sarah declared feelingly. "Would you,
darling? He's too nice for that," and she sat down in the
cretonne-covered rocker again, holding the cat in her arms.

"No cat is worth his board, to my way of thinking, who _doesn't_ catch
mice and rats," retorted Mrs. King. "Garry used to be a famous mouser."

"I guess the poor mice want to live," Sarah protested, stroking the
thick fur of the purring cat with a practised hand.

"It's a question of human beings living, or the mice," declared Mrs.
King. "Of course if you want the mice to move into your house and you
move out, that's another matter. Till I get ready to do that, I'm
going to set traps in the pantry every night and leave Garry shut up in
the kitchen."

"Just like Winnie," murmured the hapless Sarah.

"Seems to me you ought to run a zoo," said Mrs. King glancing curiously
over her spectacles at the small girl rocking the fat cat. "Though how
you're going to keep the mice and the cats and the snakes and the
tigers all happy and contented together, is more than I'm able to
figure out."

"I could make 'em love each other," said Sarah confidently.

"I don't know about that," argued Mrs. King. "Even in the circus they
can't bring that about. Mr. Robinson would tell you that," and she
pointed to the stout man who was still asleep in his chair.

"Who's that?" whispered Sarah, wondering why anyone should want to
sleep with a handkerchief over his face.

"That's Mr. Robinson, dearie," replied Mrs. King, her swift fingers
never pausing in their work. "He's advance agent for the circus."

Sarah sat up with a jerk.

"Does he own the circus?" she asked eagerly.

"Bless you, no," said Mrs. King smiling, "he doesn't own it, though he
has a good deal to do with it, in one way or another. He comes every
year to see that the posters are put up and to arrange for space for
the tents and some extra help, if it's needed. He goes around to all
the towns, ahead of the circus, you see, and tells folks it is coming;
and in the winter he does considerable buying of animals and whatnot
and hiring of performers, they tell me."

Sarah stared at the silk handkerchief in spellbound fascination. One
more question struggled for utterance.

"What is whatnot?" she demanded, her eyes still on the fat man asleep
in his chair.

"Whatnot?"--Mrs. King was puzzled.

"You said he bought whatnot for the circus."

"My land alive, didn't yo