d, buying tickets, they
entered with the other sight-seers.

Hunch mounted the platform and began his bagpipe imitations. The
peculiar position of his head in this vocal exercise required him to
look towards the top of the centre-pole of the tent, so that he could
not see his audience except when making his bow.

When he finished, and the audience was tumultuously encoring him, a hand
was laid on the arm of the tallest of the three men, who stood apart
from the crowd. Hunch, who was bowing to the mixed assemblage, missed
Blind Benner from his accustomed seat, just before the stage. Hunch soon
caught sight of his blind friend, who was saying:

"Oh, I'm so glad ter see yer, Levi."

Levi started in surprise at the naturalness of the greeting. After
scrutinizing the blind eyes for a moment, he waved a hand close to them,
but they stared at him without blinking.

Hunch jumped from the platform and elbowed a way through the astonished
spectators.

"Gee-whittaker, fellers! we thought yer was dead, er lost, er back in
the Sisters. We've been huntin' yer."

"Say, Benner, when did you leave the Sisters?" Cassi asked.

"'Bout a week after yer fellers."

"And Lizzi was well then?"

"Yes, she was well."

The blind man had turned toward the stage, where Bill was standing
violin in hand, and was waiting reverently to hear the music.

Hunch shouted familiarly:

"Say, Bill, don't yer know yer old frien's?"

The audience laughed at this ingenuous inquiry.

Signor Kellar, as he was denominated on the bills, did not smile, but
bowed gravely and slipped the violin under his chin.

"They might 'Signor' Hunch Blair all they'd a mind ter, he'd stop the
biggest show on earth ter shake han's with Lizzi's brothers," the dwarf
muttered.

The liquid notes of "Home, Sweet Home" floated to him as he stood by the
exit. The air seemed to rise and fall in long undulations set in motion
by the violin. In these waves the brothers bathed their weary souls. The
melody caressed them, and, thinking of their own home, they wept
silently.

Blind Benner crouched at Bill's feet. A silence almost of pain held the
incongruous crowd.

Hunch alone seemed untouched--apparently he was beyond the power of
spells. He made no effort to guard Bill from the fascination of the
instrument.

"Bill don't need no horn ter let him loose," he growled. "There ain't no
devil in that tune. He don't kick his feet ter eny sech. Guess Bill's
playin' fer the a