ee. The others pressed about
them. It seemed to Douglas that he waited hours; then her white lids
quivered and opened and the colour crept back to her lips.

"It's all right, Jim!" called one of the men from the crowd. "She's only
fainted." The big fellow had waited in his tracks for the verdict.

Polly's eyes looked up into those of the parson--a thrill shot through
his veins.

"It was no use, was it?" She shook her head with a sad little smile. He
knew that she was thinking of her failure to get out of his way.

"That's because I need you so much, Polly, that God won't let you go
away from me." He drew her nearer to him, and the warm blood that shot
to her cheeks brought back her strength. She rose unsteadily, and looked
about her. Jim came toward her, white and trembling.

"All right, Poll?"

"Oh, Muvver Jim!" She threw herself into his arms and clung to him,
sobbing weakly.

No one could ever remember just how the audience left the big top that
night, and even Barker had no clear idea of how Jim took down the tents,
loaded the great wagons, and sent the caravan on its way.

When the last wagon was beginning to climb the long, winding road of
the moon-lit hill, Jim turned to Polly, who stood near the side of the
deserted ring. His eyes travelled from her to the parson, who waited
near her. She was in her street clothes now, the little brown Quakerish
dress which she had chosen to wear so much since her return from the
parsonage.

"I guess I won't be makin' no mistake this time," he said, and he placed
her hand in that of the parson.

"Good-bye, Muvver Jim," faltered Polly.

He stooped and touched her forehead with his lips. A mother's spirit
breathed through his kiss.

"I'm glad it's like this," he said, then turned away and followed the
long, dotted line of winding lights disappearing slowly over the hill.

Her eyes travelled after him.

Douglas touched the cold, little hand at her side.

"I belong with them," she said, still gazing after Jim and the wagons.

"You belong with me," he answered in a firm, grave voice, and something
in the deep, sure tones told her that he was speaking the truth. She
lifted one trembling hand to his shoulder, and looked up into his face.

"Whither thou goest, will I go, where thou diest, will I die."

He drew her into his arms.

"The Lord do so to me and more also, if aught but death part thee and
me."

THE END

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of