onths to pay you
off in? If I don't, the person will sell the security and pay you
in full."

"Why don't you put the security in my hands?" asked the farmer shrewdly.

"Because I have done some damage up at the schoolhouse. I want to pay
for that, too. You will be satisfied with the security and the person
holding it, Mr. Dale. I will let you know all about it before ten
o'clock to-morrow morning."

Farmer Dale surveyed Andy with a long, curious stare, whistling softly
to himself. His hot temper was subdued, now that he saw a prospect of
payment for the burned hay.

"You talk straight off the reel, Wildwood," he said. "I believe you're
honest. Go on with your little arrangement, and let's see how it pans
out. I shan't make any move until after ten o'clock to-morrow morning."

"Thank you, Mr. Dale," said Andy. "I won't disappoint you."

Andy started to move away from the spot.

"Hold on," interrupted Dale. "Tell me how it happened."

Andy gave an unbiased account of the morning's occurrences.

"Ha! hum!" commented the farmer. "No end of scrapes because you're a
lively lad and can't help it. See here, Wildwood, do you know what I
would do if I were in your place?"

"No, what's that, Mr. Dale?" asked Andy.

"I'd join the show--yes, I would!" declared the farmer energetically. "I
tell you I believe circus is born in you, and you can't help it. You
don't have much of a life at home. You're not built for humdrum village
life. Get out; grow into something you fancy. No need being a scamp
because you're a rover. My brother was built your sort. They pinned him
down trying to make a doctor of him, and he ran away. He turned up with
a little fortune ten years later, a big-hearted, happy fellow. No one
particularly knew it, but he'd been with a traveling minstrel show for
those ten years. Now he's settled down, and I'd like to see a finer man
than Zeb Dale."

"Thank you," said Andy, "I'll think of what you say."

Farmer Dale jogged on his way. Andy faced towards Centreville. It seemed
as if something was pulling him along in that direction.

CHAPTER V

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