"I was expecting that," he said. "Stay? And what would Brownie be
thinking?"

Norah's face fell.

"Oh," she said. "I'd forgotten Brownie. I s'pose it wouldn't do. But
isn't it a glorious elephant, Daddy?"

"It is, indeed," said Mr. Linton, laughing. "I think it's too glorious
to leave, girlie. Fact is, I had an inkling the circus was to be here,
so I told Brownie not to expect us until she saw us. She put a basket in
the buggy, with your tooth-brush, I think."

The face of his small daughter was sufficient reward.

"Daddy!" she said. "Oh, but you are the MOST Daddy!" Words failed her at
that point.

Norah said that it was a most wonderful "spree." They had dinner at the
hotel, where the waiter called her "Miss Linton," and in all ways
behaved precisely as if she were grown up, and after dinner she and her
father sat on the balcony while Mr. Linton smoked and Norah watched the
population arriving to attend the circus. They came from all
quarters--comfortable old farm wagons, containing whole families; a few
smart buggies; but the majority came on horseback, old as well as young.
The girls rode in their dresses, or else had slipped on habit skirts
over their gayer attire, with great indifference as to whether it
happened to be crushed, and they had huge hats, trimmed with all the
colours of the rainbow. Norah did not know much about dress, but it
seemed to her theirs was queer. But one and all looked so happy and
excited that dress was the last thing that mattered.

It seemed to Norah a long while before Mr. Linton shook the ashes from
his pipe deliberately and pulled out his watch. She was inwardly dancing
with impatience.

"Half-past seven," remarked her father, shutting up his watch with a
click. "Well, I suppose we'd better go, Norah. All ready, dear?"

"Yes, Daddy. Must I wear gloves?"

"Why, not that I know of," said her father, looking puzzled. "Hardly
necessary, I think. I don't wear 'em. Do you want to?"

"Goodness--no!" said his daughter hastily.

"Well, that's all right," said Mr. Linton. "Stow them in my pocket and
come along."

Out in the street there were unusual signs of bustle. People were
hurrying along the footpath. The blare of brass instruments came from
the big circus tent, round which was lingering every small boy of Cunjee
who could not gain admission. Horses were tied to adjoining fences,
considerably disquieted by the brazen strains of the band. It was very
cheerful and inspirin