d the field where the tent and some gaily-painted caravans stood;
but here came an unexpected difficulty. Which was the circus? Dickie
stood still and studied the question with large round eyes, and her
finger in her mouth, Snuff looking up at her wistfully.

Nearest to them there was a large travelling caravan, with windows and
curtains, and smoke coming out of a funnel in the roof; its sides were
brightly decorated with pictures of horses, and of wonderfully beautiful
ladies jumping through hoops, and there was also a picture of a funny
gentleman with red patches on his face. This must be the circus, Dickie
decided at last, and she proceeded to climb up the steps in front,
closely followed by Snuff. The door was a tiny bit open, and she gave
it a push and looked in. Things never turn out to be much like what we
have expected, and it was so in Dickie's case, for what she saw was
this:

A small room with a low bed in one corner, and a black stove, and pots
and dishes hanging on the walls; a cradle with a baby in it, and by the
cradle a pleasant-faced young woman sitting in a wicker chair sewing
busily--so busily that it was quite a minute before she raised her eyes
and saw the little grey-coated figure standing at the door with the dog
at its side.

"Well, little dear," she said, "an' what do you want?"

Dickie murmured something, of which only the word circus was distinct.

"Is mammy at the circus?" asked the woman smiling; but Dickie shook her
head decidedly.

"Why, bless your little 'art," said the woman, getting up from her
chair, "I expect you've lost your folks. You come in and stay a-longer
me till the circus is done, and then we'll find 'em. Jem 'ull be 'ome
then. I'd go myself, but I can't leave the little un here."

Dickie began to pout in a distressed manner when the woman took her up
in her arms; this was not the circus after all. But just as she was
making up her mind to cry, her attention was caught by something lying
on the baby's cradle, and she held out her hand for it and said "Pitty!"
It was a tiny roughly-made scarlet leather boot, rather faded and worn,
but still bright enough to please Dickie's fancy. She chuckled to
herself as the woman gave it her, and muttered something about "Andoo's
'ittle gal;" and presently, tired with her great adventure and made
drowsy by the warmth of the little room, she dropped off to sleep on the
woman's knee, with the boot hugged tightly to her bosom.