t arrived. Mr. Bickford
began to fear that he had been tricked after all, when two figures,
contrasting strongly with each other, appeared. One was the giant, in
his ample height, and the other was a boy.

"There they are, Aaron!" said Mrs. Bickford, who was the first to descry
the oddly assorted pair.

"Where is the boy to sit?" asked Achilles.

"In the back seat. Mother and I will sit in front."

"All right! There you are!" said Mr. Henderson, lifting the boy in his
arms, as easily as if he were a kitten, and putting him on the rear
seat.

"Good-by, Kit!" he said. "I'm sorry you're going to leave us. Perhaps
Mr. Bickford will let you off if we show anywhere near here."

"The boy will be at work, and can't be let off," said the blacksmith,
stiffly. "But it is time we were off."

"Good-by, then, Kit!"

"Good-by!" said the supposed Kit, in a low tone, for he feared that the
difference in his voice would be recognized. But Mr. Bickford had no
suspicions. He was anxious to get started, for he and his wife were
always in bed by this time ordinarily.

So the team started, and Achilles Henderson, suppressing a laugh,
strode away to the circus cars, which were already being prepared for a
midnight journey to the next place. It may be explained here that the
circus of to-day generally owns its own cars, which are used for the
conveyance of all connected with it, their luggage, the tents, the
animals, and all the paraphernalia of the show. As soon as the show is
ended, the canvas men set to work to take down and fold up the tents.
All the freight is conveyed to the cars, and the razorbacks, already
referred to, set about loading them. The performers, ticketmen, and
candy butchers seek their berths in the sleeping cars and are often in
the land of dreams before the train starts.

While Mr. Bickford was driving in the darkness to Oakford with the
supposed Kit on the back seat, the real Kit was in his berth in the
circus cars, preparing for a refreshing night's rest.

CHAPTER XVIII.

MR. BICKFORD'S MORTIFYING DISCOVERY.

Mr. Bickford was in excellent spirits. He had enjoyed the evening, and
although he had been compelled to disburse a dollar for two circus
tickets, a sum which to him seemed large, he was disposed to acknowledge
that he had received his money's worth. Besides, and this seemed to him
the greatest triumph of all, he had recovered his runaway apprentice, or
thought he had. He inwardly resolved