the concertina;
Dad squatting on the edge of a flat stone at the corner of the
fireplace; Dave on another opposite; both gazing into the fire, which
was almost out, and listening intently to the music; the dog, dripping
wet, coiled at their feet, shivering; Mother sitting dreamily at the
table, her palm pressed against her cheek, also enjoying the music.

Sal played on until the concertina broke. Then there was a silence.

For a while Dave played with a piece of charcoal. At last he spoke.

"Well," he said, looking at Dad, "what about this circus?"

Dad chuckled.

"But what d' y' THINK?"

"Well" (Dad paused), "yes" (chuckled again)--"very well."

"A CIRCUS!" Sal put in--"a PRETTY circus YOUS'D have!"

Dave fired up.

"YOU go and ride the red heifer, strad-legs, same as y' did yesterday,"
he snarled, "an' let all the country see y'."

Sal blushed.

Then to Dad:

"I'm certain, with Paddy Maloney in it, we could do it right enough,
and make it pay, too."

"Very well, then," said Dad, "very well. There's th' tarpaulin there,
and plenty bales and old bags whenever you're ready."

Dave was delighted, and he and Dad and Joe ran out to see where the
tent could be pitched, and ran in again wetter than the dog.

One day a circus-tent went up in our yard. It attracted a lot of
notice. Two of the Johnsons and old Anderson and others rode in on
draught-horses and inspected it. And Smith's spring-cart horse, that
used to be driven by every day, stopped in the middle of the lane and
stared at it; and, when Smith stood up and belted him with the double
of the reins, he bolted and upset the cart over a stump. It was n't a
very white tent. It was made of bags and green bushes, and Dad and
Dave and Paddy Maloney were two days putting it up.

We all assisted in the preparations for the circus. Dad built seats
out of forked sticks and slabs, and Joe gathered jam-tins which Mother
filled with fat and moleskin wicks to light up with.

Everyone in the district knew about our circus, and longed for the
opening night. It came. A large fire near the slip-rails, shining
across the lane and lighting up a corner of the wheat-paddock, showed
the way in.

Dad stood at the door to take the money. The Andersons--eleven of
them--arrived first. They did n't walk straight in. They hung about
for a while. Then Anderson sidled up to Dad and talked into his ear.
"Oh! that's all right," Dad said, and passed them all in wit