lks. That's all, just folks.

But when ideals die, great truths are born. To such a boy at such a
moment there comes the firm conviction which increasing years can only
emphasize: Home is but a poor prosaic place, but Home--Ah, my brother,
think on this--Home is where Breakfast is.

"Hay! Wait for me, you fellows! Hay! Hold on a minute. Well, ain't I
a-comin' jis''s fast's ever I kin? What's your rush?"

It is the exceptional boy has this experience. The normal one preserves
the delicate bloom of romance, by never seeing the show until it makes
its Grand Triumphal Entree in a Pageant of Unparalleled Magnificence far
Surpassing the Pomp and Splendor of Oriental Potentates.

The hitching-posts are full of whinnering country horses, and people are
in town you wouldn't think existed if you hadn't seen their pictures in
Puck and Yudge, people from over by Muchinippi, and out Noodletoozy way,
big, red-necked men with the long loping step that comes from walking on
the plowed ground. Following them are lanky women with their front teeth
gone, and their figures bowed by drudgery, dragging wide-eyed children
whose uncouth finery betrays the "country jake," even if the freckles
and the sun-bleached hair could keep the secret. From the far-off
fastnesses, where there are still log-cabins chinked with mud, they have
ventured to see the show come into town, and when they have seen that,
they will retire again beyond our ken. How every sense is numbed and
stunned by the magnificence and splendor of the painted and gilded
wagons as they rumble past, the driver rolling and pitching in his seat,
as he handles the ribbons of eight horses all at once! The farmer's
heart is filled with admiration of his craft, as much as the children's
hearts are at the gaudy pictures.

The allegorical tableau-car solemnly waggles past, Europe, and Asia, and
Africa, and Australia brilliant in grease-paint and gorgeous cheesecloth
robes. And can you guess who the fat lady is up on the very tip-top of
all, on the tip-top where the wobble is the worst? Our own Columbia!
It must be fine to ride around that way all dressed up in a flag. But
a sourer lot of faces you never saw in your life. No. I am wrong. For
downright melancholy and despondency you must wait till the funny old
clown comes along in his little bit of a buggy drawn by a little bit of
a donkey.

"And, oh, looky! Here comes the elephants, just the same as in the
joggerfy books. And see the me