be as good in the circus as in this book,
perhaps he would not be so bad. He thought also that then he would not
be beaten so often, and some one would be found who would love him.
But who? Not negroes and not Mr. Hirsch; little Jenny, whose voice
sounded as sweetly in his ears as the voice of the mavis, might be the
one.

One evening, under the influence of this thought, he began to weep and
kiss the small hands of Jenny, and from this time on he loved her very
much. During the performance in the evening, when Jenny was riding a
horse, he was always in the ring and carefully watching over her to
prevent any accident. When he held the paper hoops for her to jump
through he smiled on her; when to the sound of the music be balanced
her on the top of the high mast, and the audience was hushed with
fright, he felt uneasy himself. He knew very well if she should fall
that no one from the "good book" would be left in the circus; he never
removed his eyes from her, and the evident caution and anxiety
expressed in his movements added to the terror of the people. Then,
when recalled into the ring by the storm of applause, they would run
in together, he would push her forward, as if deserving of all the
praise, and murmur from joy. This reticent youth spoke only to Jenny,
and to her alone he opened his mind. He hated the circus and Mr.
Hirsch, who was entirely different from the people in the "good book."
Something always attracted him to the edge of the horizon, to the
woods and plains. When the circus troupe in their constant wanderings
chanced to pass through wild, lonely spots, he heard voices awakening
the instincts of a captive wolf, who sees the woods and plains for the
first time. This propensity he inherited not only from his mother, but
also from his father, who had been a frontiersman. He shared all his
hopes with Jenny, and often narrated to her how fully and untrammeled
live the people of the plains. Most of this he guessed or gleaned from
the hunters of the prairies, who came to the circus with wild animals
which they had captured for the menagerie, or to try their prowess for
the hundred-dollar prize.

Little Jenny listened to these Indian visions, opening widely her blue
eyes and falling into deep reveries. For Orso never spoke of going
alone to the desert; she was always with him, and it was very good for
them there. Every day they saw something new; they possessed all they
needed, and it seemed right to make a