Chapter III
ABNER BOLTON
"Now I'll see about makin' the saddle," said Bob, "'cause I've seen 'em a good many times in a circus, an' I know jest how they're made. While I'm doin' that you fellers must be fixin' 'bout who else we'll have in the show. Leander Leighton will come up here to-morrow, so's we can hear how he plays, an' we must have everything fixed by then."
"Why didn't he come to-day?" asked Ben, thinking that all the members of the firm should have been present at this first rehearsal.
"Well, you see, he had to split some wood, an' he had to take care of the baby. I offered to help him with the wood; but he said he couldn't get away any quicker if I did, for just as soon as the baby saw another feller waitin' 'round, she'd yell so awful hard he'd have to stay in all day."
This explanation as to the absence of the band appeared to be perfectly satisfactory to those present, and they began to discuss the merits of certain of their companions in order to decide upon the proper ones to enlist as members, since the number of their performers was not so large as they thought it should be in a show where an admission fee of three cents was to be charged.
Just as they were getting well into their discussion, and, of course, speaking of such matters as managers should keep a profound secret from the public, Bob cried out:
"There comes Abner Bolton! He's always runnin' 'round where he hain't wanted; an' I wonder how he come to know we was here? I'll send him off mighty quick now, you see."
The boy who had disturbed Bob so greatly was so near when he was first discovered that by the time the threat had been uttered he was close upon them. He was a small boy, not more than eight years old, and hardly as large as a boy of six should be; he walked on crutches because of his deformed legs, which hung withered and useless, barely capable of supporting his slight weight.
"Now, what do you want?" asked Bob, in an angry tone.
"I don't want anything," was the mild reply, as the cripple halted just outside the shade, as if not daring to come any farther until invited. "I heard you was goin' to get up a circus, an' I thought perhaps you'd let me watch you, 'cause I wouldn't bother you any."
"You would bother us, an' you can't stay 'round here, for we hain't goin' to have anybody watchin' us. You may come to the show if you can get three cents."
"I don't s'pose I could do that," said the boy, looking longingly towards the shade, but still standing in the sun. "I don't have any chance to get money, an' I do wish you boys would let me stay where you are, for it's so awful lonesome out to the poor-farm, an' I can't run around as you can."
"Well, you can't stay here, an' the sooner you go back to the village the better we'll like it, for we don't want anybody to know what we're talkin' about."
Toby had attempted to speak once or twice while Bob was engaged with the cripple from the poor-farm; but he did not get an opportunity until Abner turned to go away, looking thoroughly sad and disheartened.
"Don't go, Abner, but come and set down here where it's cool, an' perhaps we can fix it for you."
The cripple turned as Toby spoke, and the look which came into his face went right to the heart of the boy, who for ten long weeks had known what it was to be almost entirely without a friend.
"I don't see what you want him 'round here for," said Bob, petulantly, as Abner seated himself by Toby's side, thoroughly exhausted by his long walk. "He can't do nothin'; an' if he could, we don't want no fellers from the poor-farm mixed up with the show."
"It don't make any difference if he does live to the poor-farm," said Toby, as he put his little brown hand on Abner's thin fingers. "He has to stay there 'cause his father and mother's dead, an' perhaps I'd been there, 'cept for Uncle Dan'l. If I'd thought before about his bein' lonesome an' not bein' able to play like the rest of us, I'd gone out to see him; an' now we do know it we'll let him stay with us, an' perhaps he can do something in the circus."
"The fellers will laugh at us, an' say we're runnin' a poorhouse show," replied Bob, sulkily.
"Well, let 'em laugh; we'll feel a good deal better'n they do, 'cause we'll know we're tryin' to let a little feller have some fun what don't get many chances;" and, in his excitement, Toby spoke so loudly that Joe came running up to see what was the matter.
"Let him stay 'round here to-day, 'cause we've got all through practisin', an' then tell him to keep away," said Ben, thinking this idea a very generous one.
"He can belong to the show jest as well as not; an' if you fellers will let him, I'll give you my part of all the money we make."
This proposition of Toby's put the matter on a very different basis, and both Ben and Bob now looked favorably inclined towards it.
"Don't you do that, Toby," said Abner, his eyes filling with tears because of the kindness shown him. "I'll go right away, an' I won't come into the village again to bother you."
"You shall come into the village every day, Abner, an' you won't bother us at all, for you shall go 'long of me everywhere I do, an' I won't never walk any faster'n you can;" and Toby moved his seat nearer Abner, to show that he took him under his especial care.
"He might help tend the door," said Joe, kindly, anxious to please Toby, "an' that'll give me a chance to do more howlin' for the hyenas, 'cause that'll be 'bout all I oughter do if I have to hold the hoops."
"Yes, he can do that," and Toby was very eager now, "an' we can get him a stool to sit on, an' he can do jest as much as if he could stand up."
By this time Bob and Ben had decided that, in consideration of Toby's offer, Abner should be counted as one of the company, and the matters under discussion that had been interrupted by the cripple's coming were again taken up.
Owing to the possible chance that Joe could not succeed in training the blind horse sufficiently to make him useful in the ring, it was necessary to know just what animals they could procure, and Bob offered to see Chandler Merrill for the purpose of securing the services of his Mexican pony, who had never allowed any one to ride him without first having a severe battle.
"We can train him down all right," said Bob; "an' you fellers come down now while I find out 'bout the pony, so's we can come back here after dinner."
As it was very important that this matter should be settled as soon as possible, Bob's advice was acted upon; and as the boys started to go, Toby said:
"Come, Abner, you come home with me an' get some dinner, an' then you can come back here when I do."
Bob was disposed to make sport of this sudden friendship; but Toby paid no attention to what he said, and if any of them wanted to talk with him, they too were obliged to walk with the boy from the poor-farm.
By the time they arrived at Uncle Daniel's, Toby had formed many plans for making the life of the homeless boy more cheerful than it ever had been.
Chapter IV
THE PONY
Toby's interest in the crippled boy whom he had taken under his charge was considerably greater than in the contemplated circus; and both Bob and Ben felt angry and injured when, in the midst of some brilliant plan for startling those of the good people of Guilford who should come to their circus, Toby would stop to say something to Abner, who was hobbling along as fast as possible in order that he might not oblige the party to wait for him.
For a number of years Toby had known that there was a crippled orphan at the poor-farm; but it so happened that he had not met him very often, and even then he had no idea of the lonely life the boy was obliged to lead.
On the way to the village he had formed several plans by which he might aid Abner; but none of them could be put into operation until after he had consulted Uncle Daniel and Aunt Olive.
It was nearly noon, and the understanding was that each one should get his dinner and go to the pasture again, when it would be known whether they were to be able to number Chandler Merrill's pony among the attractions of their show, or be wholly dependent upon the disabled horses that as yet made up their collection.
"You're comin' to get dinner with me, Abner," said Toby, as he stopped in front of Uncle Daniel's gate, while the little fellow was continuing on his way to the only place he could call home, there to get his dinner with the other paupers.
"I'm afraid your aunt won't want me," he said, shyly, while it was plain to be seen that he would be more than well pleased to accept the invitation.
"Aunt Olive won't care a bit, an' she'll be glad to have you, I know, 'cause she says it always does her good to see hungry people eat, though if that's so I must have done her an awful sight of good lots of times, for it don't seem to me I ever set down to the table in my life but what I was awful hungry. Come on now, so's we'll have time to get our hands an' faces washed before the dinner-bell rings."
Abner followed Toby in a hesitating way, much as if he expected each moment to be ordered back; and when they arrived at the door he stood on the threshold, not daring to enter until permission had been given.
"This is Abner Bolton, Uncle Dan'l," said Toby, as he saw that his newly made friend would not come in without an invitation from some one besides himself. "He lives out to the poor-farm, an' he don't have any such nice home as I've got, so I thought you wouldn't care if I brought him in to dinner."
"You've got a good heart, Toby, boy, and the Lord will reward you for it," said Uncle Daniel, as he stroked the boy's refractory hair; and then he said to Abner, "Come in, my lad, and share Toby's dinner, nor need you ever hesitate about accepting any such invitation when it leads you here."
Then Aunt Olive greeted Abner so kindly that the poor boy hardly knew whether it was reality or a dream, so strange was it all to him.
During the dinner Toby told of the difficulty he had had in getting his partners to consent to Abner's being one of the company, and Aunt Olive, who had shown considerable interest in the circus scheme, said:
"Why don't you let him keep a stand, and then he can make some money for himself. I will bake him a lot of doughnuts and ginger-snaps, and your Uncle Dan'l will lend him money enough to buy lemons an' sugar. It will be a deal better than to have Nahum Baker there with his pies that are as heavy as lead, an' doughnuts that have soaked up all the fat in the pan."
Toby was delighted with the plan, and Abner's eyes glistened at the mere idea that it might be possible for him to do, once in his life at least, as did other and more fortunate boys.
It certainly seemed, when they arrived at the pasture again, as if everything was conspiring in favor of their circus, for Chandler Merrill had willingly consented to let them use his pony; but he had done so with the kindly prophecy that the little animal would "kick their brains out" if they were not careful with him.
In order to make sure that the consent would not be withdrawn, and at the same time to prove that he told the truth, Bob had brought the pony with him, and, judging from his general appearance as he stood gazing suspiciously at the Douglass horse, he deserved all that was said of him regarding his vicious qualities. He was about half the size of an ordinary horse, and his coat was ragged-looking, owing to its having been rubbed off in spots, thus giving him the air of just such a pony as one would suppose willing to join a party of boys in starting a circus.
"Now, there's a hoss that hain't either lame or blind," said Bob, proudly, as he led the pony once around the ring to show his partners how he stepped. If he was intending to say anything more, he concluded to defer it while he made some very rapid movements in order to escape the blow the "hoss" aimed at him with his hind-feet.
"Kicks, don't he?" said Toby, in a tone which plainly told he did not think him very well suited to their purpose.
"Well, he did then," and Bob fastened the halter more securely by putting one end of the rope through the pony's mouth; "but you see that's 'cause he hain't been used much, an' he's tickled 'cause he's goin' to belong to a circus."
"How long before he'll get over bein' tickled?" asked Joe. "I'm willin' to train Jack Douglass's hoss; but I don't know 'bout this one till he gets sorry enough not to kick."
"Oh, he'll be all right jest as soon as Toby rides him 'round the ring a little while."
"Do you think I'm goin' to ride him?" asked Toby, beginning to believe his partners expected more of him than ever Mr. Castle did.
"Of course; a feller what's been with a circus ought to know how to ride any hoss that ever lived," replied Bob, with considerable emphasis, owing to the fact that the pony kicked and plunged so that his words were jerked out of him, rather than spoken.
"I s'pose some fellers can; but I wasn't with the circus long enough to find out how to ride such hosses as them," and Toby retired to the shade of the alder bushes, where Abner was sitting to wait until Bob and the pony had come to terms.
It was quite as much as Bob could do to hold his prize, without trying to make any arrangements for having him ridden, and he called Reddy to help him.
Now, as the ring-master of the contemplated circus, Reddy ought to have known all about horses, and he thought he did until the pony made one plunge, just as he came up smiling with whip in hand. Then he said, as he ran towards Toby:
"I don't believe I want to be ring-master if we're goin' to have that hoss."
"Here, Joe, you help me," cried Bob, in desperation, growing each moment more afraid of the steed. "I want to get him up by the fence, where we can hitch him, till we find out what to do with him."
Joe was perfectly willing to assist the unfortunate clown in his troubles; but, as he started towards him, the pony wheeled and flung his heels out with a force that showed he would do some damage if he could, and Joe also joined the party among the bushes.
Bob was thus left alone with his prize, and a most uncomfortable time he appeared to be having of it, standing there in the hot sun clinging desperately to the halter, and jumping from one side to the other when the pony attempted to bite, or strike him with his fore-feet.
"Let him go; he hain't any good," shouted Reddy from his secure retreat.
"If I let go the halter, he'll jump right at me," and there was a certain ring in Bob's voice that told he was afraid.
"Hitch him to the fence, an' then climb over," suggested Joe.
"But I can't get him over there, for he won't go a step," and Bob continued to hold fast to the halter, afraid to do so, but still more afraid to let go.
He had borrowed the pony; but it certainly seemed as if the animal had borrowed him, for his fear caused him to cling desperately to the halter as the only possible means of saving his life.
The boys under the alder bushes were fully alive to the fact that something should be done although they were undecided as to what that something should be.
Joe proposed that they all rush out and scare the pony away, but Bob insisted that he would be the sufferer by such a course. Reddy thought if Bob should show more spirit, and let the vicious little animal see that he was not afraid of him, everything would be all right; but when it was proposed that he try the plan himself, he concluded, perhaps, there might be serious objections to such a course.
Ben thought if all of them got hold of the halter, they could pull the pony to the fence, and this plan was looked upon with such favor that it was adopted at once.
Every one, except Abner, took hold of the halter, after some little delay in getting there, owing to the readiness of the pony to use his heels at the slightest provocation; and, just when they were about to put forth all their strength in pulling, the pony jumped towards them suddenly, rendering their efforts useless, and starting all, save Bob, back to the alder bushes in ignominious flight.
Bob still remained at his post, or, more correctly speaking, the halter, and it was very much against his will that he did so.
"I wish Chandler Merrill would come up here an' get his old hoss, for I don't want him any longer," he said, angrily. "He ought to be prosecuted for lettin' us have such a old tiger."
Bob did not seem to remember that, if he had refused the loan of the pony, he would have considered Chandler Merrill very selfish; in fact, he hardly remembered anything save his own desire to get rid of the animal, and as quickly as possible.
"What shall I do?" he cried, in desperation. "I can't stand here all day, an' the hoss don't mean to let me get away."
"We've got to help Bob," said Toby, decidedly, as he arose to his feet again, and went towards the unfortunate clown. "If you fellers will try to hold him, I'll get on his back, an' then Bob can get away."
"But he'll throw you off, an' hurt you," objected Abner, trying to prevent his newly made friend from going.
"I can stop him from doing that, an' it's the only way I know of to help Bob."
"You get on, Toby, an' then I'll scoot jest as soon as you get hold of the halter," said Bob, happy at this prospect of being relieved. "Then, when you get a chance, you jump off, an' we'll let somebody else take him home."
It was a hard task, and they all ran considerable risk of getting kicked; but at last it was accomplished, so far as mounting was concerned. Toby was on the pony's back with a firm grasp of the rope that was made to serve as bridle.
"Now, be all ready to run," he said; and there was no disposition to linger shown by any of his friends.
"Let go!" he shouted, and at the sound of his voice the boys went one way and the pony another at full speed.
It was not until the would-be circus managers were within the shelter of the clump of bushes that they stopped to look for their partner, and then they saw him at the further end of the pasture, the pony running and leaping as if doing his best to dislodge his rider.
Even the Douglass horse seemed to be excited by the display of spirit, for he capered around in a manner very unbecoming one as old and blind as he.
Only for a few moments could they watch the contest, and then the distant trees hid Toby Tyler and Chandler Merrill's pony from view.
Chapter V
OLD BEN
Some time the boys watched for Toby's return, and just as they were beginning to think they ought to go in search of him, and fearing lest he had been hurt by the vicious pony, they saw him coming from among the trees, alone and on foot.
"Well," said Bob, with a sigh of relief, "he's got rid of the hoss, an' that was all we wanted."
Toby's story, when at last, hot and tired, he reached the alder bushes, was not nearly so exciting as his partners anticipated. He had clung to the pony until they entered the woods, where he was brushed off by the branches of the trees as easily as if he had been a fly, and with as little damage.
How they should get the pony back into its owner's keeping was a question difficult to answer, and they were all so completely worn out by their exertions to get rid of him that they did not attempt to come to any conclusion regarding it.
While they were resting from their labors, and before they had ceased to congratulate each other that they had succeeded in separating themselves from the pony, Leander Leighton, his accordion under his arm and his clappers in his hand, made his appearance.
His struggle with the baby had evidently come to an end sooner than he had dared hope, and the managers were happy at this speedy prospect of hearing what their band could do in the way of music.
"Boys!" shouted Leander, excitedly, while he was some distance away, "there's a real circus comin' here next week – the same one Toby Tyler run away with – an' the men are pastin' up the bills now, down to the village!"
The boys looked at each other in surprise; it had never entered into their calculations that they might have a real circus as a rival, and certainly Toby had never thought he would again see those whom he had first run away with and then run away from. He was rather disturbed by the prospect at first, for it seemed certain that Job Lord and Mr. Castle would try to compel him to go with them; but a moment's thought convinced him that Uncle Daniel would not allow them to carry him away, and he grew as eager for more news as any of the others.
Leander knew no more than he had already told; after having been relieved from his care of the baby, he had started for the pasture, and had seen the show-bills as he came along. He was certain it was the same circus Toby had gone with, for the names on the bills were the same, and he had heard some of the townspeople say so as he came along.
"An' I shall see the skeleton an' the fat woman again," said Toby, delighted at the idea of meeting those kind friends from whom he had thought himself parted with forever.
"Don't you s'pose you could get 'em to leave that show an' come with ours?" asked Bob, thinking perhaps some kind fortune had thrown this opportunity in their way that they might the better succeed in their project.
Toby was not sure such a plan could be made to work, for the reason that they were only intending to give two or three performances, and Mr. and Mrs. Treat might not think it worth their while to leave the circus they were with on the strength of such uncertain prospects.
"And you shall go to the show, Abner," said Toby, pleased at the opportunity he would have of making the crippled boy happy for one day at least; "an' I'll take all of you fellers down, an' get the skeleton to talk at you, so's you can see how nice he is. You shall see his wife, an' old Ben, an' Ella, an' – "
"But won't you be afraid of Job Lord?" interrupted Leander, fearful lest Toby's dread of meeting his old employer might prevent them from having all this promised enjoyment.
"Uncle Dan'l wouldn't let him take me away, an' now I'm home here I don't believe old Ben would let him touch me."
There was evidently no probability that they would transact any more business relative to their own circus that day, so intent were they on talking about the one that was to come, and it was not until nearly time to drive the cows home that they remembered the presence of their band.
Ben proposed that Leander should show them what he could do in the way of music, so that he need not be at the trouble of bringing his accordion up into the pasture again, and the boys ceased all conversation for the purpose of listening to the so-called melody.
After considerable preparation in the way of polishing his clappers on the cuff of his jacket and fingering the keys of his accordion to make sure they were in proper working order, Leander extracted with one finger a few bars of "Yankee Doodle" from the last-named instrument, and gave an imitation of a drum with the clappers, in a manner that won for him no small amount of applause.
"Now, we'll go home," said Toby, "'cause Uncle Dan'l will be waitin' for me an' the cows, an' to-morrow I'll meet you down-town where the circus pictures be."
Then he helped Abner on to his crutches, and walked beside him all the way, wishing, oh, so much! that he could save the poor boy from having to go out to the poor-farm to sleep.
"You come in just as early as you can in the mornin', Abner, an' you shall eat dinner with me," he said, as he parted with the boy at Uncle Daniel's gate, "an' perhaps you'll make so much money at our circus that you won't ever have to go out to the poor-farm again."
Abner tried to thank his friend for the kindness he had shown him; but the sobs of gratitude came into his throat so fast that it was impossible, and he hobbled away towards his dreary home, while Toby ran into the house to tell the astounding news of the coming of the circus.
"So all the people who were so kind to you will be here next week, will they?" said, rather than asked, Aunt Olive. "Well, Toby, we'll kill one of the lambs, an' you shall invite them up here to dinner, which will kind of encourage them to be good to any other little boy who may be as foolish as you were."
Toby lay awake a long time that night, thinking of the pleasure he was to have in seeing Mr. and Mrs. Treat, old Ben and little Ella, eating dinner in Uncle Daniel's home, and of how good a boy he ought to be to repay his uncle and aunt for their loving-kindness to him.
Operations were almost entirely suspended by the would-be circus managers in view of the coming of the real show. It would have been commercial folly to attempt to enter into competition with it; the real circus would, without a doubt, prove too strong a rival for them to contend against; and by waiting until after it had come and gone they might be able to pick up some useful ideas regarding the show they proposed to give.
This delay would be to their advantage in a great many other ways. The band would have so much time for practice that he might learn another tune, or even be able to play with more than one finger; their acrobat would have so many rehearsals that he could, perhaps, double his present allowance of hand-springs, and Joe would be able to bring his horses to a more perfect state of training.
Mr. Douglass, having no use for his horse, was perfectly willing he should remain under Joe's tuition, providing it was done in Uncle Daniel's pasture; but matters were not in so good a condition regarding the pony.
Chandler Merrill was anxious to have his property returned to him, and not willing to go after it. Besides, Mr. Douglass's horse was in great danger of being kicked to death so long as the vicious little animal remained in the same pasture.
Very many were the discussions the boys had on the subject; but nothing could be suggested which promised any relief, after Bob's brilliant idea of driving the pony out, and letting him find his way home as best he might, was tried without success. The pony not only refused to go out, but he actually drove the boys away by the liberal use he made of his heels.
Slowly the time passed until the day before the one on which the circus was to arrive, Toby had almost been counting the hours and Abner, who was to see the interior of a circus tent for the first time in his life, was quite as excited as he.
The lamb had been killed as Aunt Olive had promised, and a rare store of good things in the way of apple-pies, cake, doughnuts, and custards had been prepared, until the pantry looked like a large-sized baker's shop just opened for inspection.
Everything was ready for the guests, who were to be invited to dinner next day; and when Toby went to bed that night, it seemed as if he would never get to sleep for thinking of all the friends he was to see.
Abner was in quite as sleepless a condition as Toby; Aunt Olive had invited him to remain overnight, so that he might see everything that was going on, and as he lay in the soft, geranium-scented bed, his eyes were kept wide open by his delight with what seemed to him the magnificence of the room.
It seemed as though each boy in the village considered himself Toby's particular and intimate friend during the week that preceded the coming of the circus; and the marbles, balls, and boats that were showered upon him in the way of gifts would almost have stocked a small shop.
Then, on this day before the circus, all the boys in town were most anxious to know just where Toby proposed meeting the cavalcade, at what time he was to start, and other details which showed quite plainly it was their intention to accompany him if possible.
When Toby went to bed, it was with the express understanding with Uncle Daniel that he was to be called at daylight, in order that he might start out to meet the circus when it stopped to prepare for its entrance into the town. The place where the procession was usually formed was fully two miles from town, and as Abner could hardly walk that distance, and certainly could not walk so fast as Toby would want to go, he had agreed to drive the cows to pasture, after which he was to go to the tenting-ground, where his friend would introduce him to all the celebrities.