y abused you, of course I wouldn't. Tell the truth, and I'll
stand by you. Girls, you go for the milk."

"Oh, Ma, do let us stay! We'll never tell, truly, truly!" cried Bab and
Betty, full of dismay being sent off when secrets were about to be
divulged.

"I don't mind 'em," said Ben handsomely.

"Very well, only hold your tongues. Now, boy where did you come from?"
said Mrs. Moss, as the little girls hastily sat down together on their
private and particular bench opposite their mother, brimming with
curiosity and beaming with satisfaction at the prospect before them.

CHAPTER IV

HIS STORY

"I ran away from a circus," began Ben, but got no further, for Bab and
Betty gave a simultaneous bounce of delight, and both cried out at once,--

"We've been to one! It was splendid!"

"You wouldn't think so if you knew as much about it as I do," answered
Ben, with a sudden frown and wriggle, as if he still felt the smart of
the blows he had received. "We don't call it splendid; do we, Sancho?"
he added, making a queer noise, which caused the poodle to growl and
bang the floor irefully with his tail, as he lay close to his master's
feet, getting acquainted with the new shoes they wore.

"How came you there?" asked Mrs. Moss, rather disturbed at the news.

"Why, my father was the 'Wild Hunter of the Plains.' Didn't you ever see
or hear of him?" said Ben, as if surprised at her ignorance.

"Bless your heart, child, I haven't been to a circus this ten years, and
I'm sure I don't remember what or who I saw then," answered Mrs. Moss,
amused, yet touched by the son's evident admiration for his father.

"Didn't you see him?" demanded Ben, turning to the little girls.

"We saw Indians and tumbling men, and the Bounding Brothers of Borneo,
and a clown and monkeys, and a little mite of a pony with blue eyes. Was
he any of them?" answered Betty, innocently.

"Pooh! he didn't belong to that lot. He always rode two, four, six,
eight horses to oncet, and I used to ride with him till I got too big.
My father was A No. 1, and didn't do any thing but break horses and ride
'em," said Ben, with as much pride as if his parent had been a
President.

"Is he dead?" asked Mrs. Moss.

"I don't know. Wish I did,"--and poor Ben gave a gulp as if something
rose in his throat and choked him.

"Tell us all about it, dear, and may be we can find out where he is,"
said Mrs. Moss, leaning forward to pat the shiny dark head that was
su