ately. "And if I did
know, I wouldn't tell you!"

The man struck his riding boot sharply again. "What's that? what's
that?" he growled.

Agnes' pluck was rising. "I'm not afraid of you--so there!" she said,
bobbing her head at him.

"Why, bless you, Miss!" ejaculated Sorber. "I should hope not. I
wouldn't hurt you for a farm Down East with a pig on it--no, Ma'am! We
keep whips for the backs of runaways--not for pretty little ladies like
you."

"You wouldn't _dare_ beat Neale O'Neil!" gasped Agnes.

"Ah-ha?" exclaimed the man. "'Neale O'Neil?' Then you do know him?"

Agnes was stricken dumb with apprehension. Her anger had betrayed Neale,
she feared.

"So that's what he calls himself, is it?" repeated Sorber. "O'Neil was
his father's name. I didn't think he would remember."

"We can't be talking about the same boy," blurted out Agnes, trying to
cover her "bad break." "You say his name is Sorber."

"Oh, he could take any name. I thought maybe he'd call himself
'Jakeway.' He was called 'Master Jakeway' on the bills and he'd oughter
be proud of the name. We had too many Sorbers in the show. Sorber,
ringmaster and lion tamer--that's _me_, Miss. Sully Sorber, first
clown--that's my half brother, Miss. William Sorber is treasurer and
ticket seller--under bonds, Miss. He's my own brother. And--until a few
years ago--there was Neale's mother. She was my own sister."

Agnes had begun to be very curious. And while he was talking, the girl
was looking Sorber over for a second time.

He was not all bad! Of that Agnes began to be sure. Yet he wanted to
beat Neale O'Neil for running away from a circus.

To tell the truth, Agnes could scarcely understand how a boy could so
dislike circus life as to really _want_ to run away from even Twomley &
Sorber's Herculean Circus and Menagerie. There was a glitter and tinsel
to the circus that ever appealed to Agnes herself!

Personally Mr. Sorber lost none of his coarseness on longer
acquaintance, but now Agnes noticed that there were humorous wrinkles
about his eyes, and an upward twist to the corners of his mouth. She
believed after all he might be good-natured.

Could she help Neale in any way by being friendly with this man? She
could try. There was a rustic bench under the Baldwin tree.

"Won't you sit down, Mr. Sorber?" suggested Agnes, politely.

"Don't care if I do, Miss," declared the showman, and took an end of the
bench, leaving the other end invitingly open, but A