He entirely forgot Tom Tadgers, who, not having had the luck to meet
with an accident, was left outside. In fact, Philemon saw Tom no more
that day, and the latter, at the close of the afternoon, met Silas Elder
once more, and rode peacefully home, where he went to bed, quite
omitting to say a word to anybody about Philemon.

In the mean time that worthy ate his dinner with his new companions. He
wondered vaguely what his mother would say if she knew where he was.

He might have wondered more had not one of the men poured a yellow
liquid into a cup, and handed it to him.

"Drink this, my man," said he.

Then everybody laughed. The liquid was sweet. Philemon liked it. He
drank every drop. Soon he began to feel very bright and merry; and when
a new song was sung he joined lustily in the chorus. He had a clear,
high, ringing voice.

"Bless us!" exclaimed Mons. Duval. "Tip us a song yourself, boy."

Not a whit abashed, Philemon began to sing.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Mons. Duval. "Tim Luker, what used to do our first
tribble, was took sick this morning. What d'ye say, youngster, to being
blacked up, and singing this evening to the circus along o' our minstrel
troupe?"

That yellow liquid was in Philemon's blood. His eyes sparkled, his
cheeks flamed.

"Yes, I'll sing," cried he, boisterously, "and I'll go to the ends of
the earth with you."

After dinner--it was strange--he felt very drowsy. Mons. Duval, for some
reason, was extremely amused, and considered it a great joke.

"You lay down here and take a nap," he said, and actually took off his
own coat to put over Philemon. The boy slept all that afternoon; indeed,
he never opened his eyes till it was nearly time for the evening's
entertainment to begin.

The big dingy tent where the performance was to come off was lighted.
Philemon followed Mons. Duval into the small tent behind the large one,
where those who were to take part awaited their several turns.

He stood meekly silent, while his face, hands, and neck were daubed with
some sticky black stuff; and then, as bidden, he arrayed himself in some
extraordinary baggy yellow clothes, and a big paper collar.

He caught sight of himself in a bit of glass. He looked like a little
black imp. What would his mother say to see him? A feeling of intense
shame surged over him. He crouched down in a corner, wishing he could
hide himself from the eyes of all men.

Philemon looked around him, and there, close by, was