bout who else we'll have in
the show. Leander Leighton will come up here to-morrow, so's we can hear
how he plays, an' we must have everything fixed by then."

"Why didn't he come to-day?" asked Ben, thinking that all the members of
the firm should have been present at this first rehearsal.

"Well, you see, he had to split some wood, an' he had to take care of
the baby. I offered to help him with the wood; but he said he couldn't
get away any quicker if I did, for just as soon as the baby saw another
feller waitin' 'round, she'd yell so awful hard he'd have to stay in all
day."

This explanation as to the absence of the band appeared to be perfectly
satisfactory to those present, and they began to discuss the merits of
certain of their companions in order to decide upon the proper ones to
enlist as members, since the number of their performers was not so large
as they thought it should be in a show where an admission fee of three
cents was to be charged.

Just as they were getting well into their discussion, and, of course,
speaking of such matters as managers should keep a profound secret from
the public, Bob cried out:

"There comes Abner Bolton! He's always runnin' 'round where he hain't
wanted; an' I wonder how he come to know we was here? I'll send him off
mighty quick now, you see."

The boy who had disturbed Bob so greatly was so near when he was first
discovered that by the time the threat had been uttered he was close
upon them. He was a small boy, not more than eight years old, and hardly
as large as a boy of six should be; he walked on crutches because of his
deformed legs, which hung withered and useless, barely capable of
supporting his slight weight.

"Now, what do _you_ want?" asked Bob, in an angry tone.

"I don't want anything," was the mild reply, as the cripple halted just
outside the shade, as if not daring to come any farther until invited.
"I heard you was goin' to get up a circus, an' I thought perhaps you'd
let me watch you, 'cause I wouldn't bother you any."

"You would bother us, an' you can't stay 'round here, for we hain't
goin' to have anybody watchin' us. You may come to the show if you can
get three cents."

"I don't s'pose I could do that," said the boy, looking longingly
towards the shade, but still standing in the sun. "I don't have any
chance to get money, an' I do wish you boys would let me stay where you
are, for it's so awful lonesome out to the poor-farm, an' I can't ru