, appalled {326} at the sight,
"How many blame children has the mayor of the town got? Is he a
Mormon, anyway, or what? An' how about that one?" pointing to the
darky.

Father was standing near. We had not seen him. He turned and surveyed
the multitude, including the black boy, that we had foisted upon him.
It was a humorous situation, but father didn't see it that way. He
sent all of us home with a few scathing words. My younger brother and
I wanted to go to that circus more than we ever wanted to go to any
circus before. We slept in a half-story room with windows opening on
the porch roof. That night we climbed out on the roof and slid down
the porch to the ground at the risk of breaking our necks.

Henry and Charles met us by appointment. We none of us had any money
and we resolved to sneak in, our services at watering the elephants not
being considered worthy of a ticket. My brother and I got in safely
under the canvas in one place. Henry succeeded in effecting an
entrance in another, but Charles Peter Van Buskirk got caught. A flat
board in the hands of a watchman made a close connection with his
anatomy. Charles was hauled back, well paddled and sent home.
Circuses were a tabooed subject where he was concerned for some time
thereafter.

William, my brother, and I clambered through the legs of the crowd on
the seats after we got into the canvas tent. As luck would have it, we
ran right into the arms of our father. I was paralyzed, but William
burst out with a boldness that savored of an inspiration, "Why father,
you here? I thought you were going to prayer-meeting."

Everybody laughed, father said nothing; some one made room for us, and
we watched the performance {327} with mingled feelings of delight and
apprehension. The wood-shed loomed up awfully black as we passed it
that night. We held our breath. However, father never said anything
to us but, "Good night, boys. I hope you had a good time."

We certainly had. And we escaped the usual licking, deserved though it
was. And it wasn't Sunday, either.

But where was I? O, yes! Charles Peter Van Buskirk one Saturday
morning announced his intention of going on an expedition across the
river. Over the river from where we lived was "Slab Town," dilapidated
little settlement of no social or moral consideration. The old
captain, the pilot of the wheezy ferry-boat _Edgar_, was our sworn
friend, and allowed us to ride free as often as we co