andfathers or grandmothers anywhere than we got
among us. Why, that girl's mother rode the horses afore her, and her
mother afore that, and her grandmother and grandfather afore that,
an' there ain't nobody what's cared more for their good name and their
children's good name an' her people has. You see, sir, circus folks
is all like that; they's jes' like one big family; they tends to their
business and takes good care o' theirselves--they has to--or they
couldn't do their work. It's 'cause I'm leavin' her with you that I'm
sayin' all this," the old man apologised.

"I'm glad you told me, Toby," Douglas answered, kindly. "I've never
known much about circus folks."

"I guess I'd better be goin'," Toby faltered, as his eyes roved hungrily
toward the stairway.

"I'll send you our route, and mebbe you'll be lettin' us know how she
is."

"Indeed I will," Douglas assured him, heartily.

"You might tell her we'll write ever' day or so," he added.

"I'll tell her," Douglas promised earnestly.

"Good night!" The old man hesitated, unwilling to go, but unable to find
further pretext for staying.

"Good night, Toby." Douglas extended his hand toward the bent figure
that was about to shuffle past him. The withered hand of the white-faced
clown rested in the strong grasp of the pastor, and his pale, little
eyes sought the face of the stalwart man before him; a numb desolation
was growing in his heart; the object for which he had gone on day by day
was being left behind and he must stumble forth into the night alone.

"It's hard to leave her," he mumbled; "but the show has got to go on."

The door shut out the bent, old figure. Douglas stood for some time
where Toby had left him, still thinking of his prophetic words. His
revery was broken by the sounds of the departing wagons, the low
muttered curses of the drivers, the shrieking and roaring of the
animals, as the circus train moved up the distant hill. "The show has
got to go on," he repeated as he crossed to his study table and seated
himself for work in the dim light of the old-fashioned lamp. He put out
one hand to draw the sheets of his interrupted sermon toward him, but
instead it fell upon a small sailor hat. He twisted the hat absently in
his fingers, not yet realising the new order of things that was coming
into his life. Mandy tiptoed softly down the stairs. She placed one
pudgy forefinger on her lips, and rolled her large eyes skyward. "Dat
sure am an angel ch