The Great Moral Exhibition

F ATHER could not conceal his interest in the Great Moral Exhibition that was soon to appear for the first and only time in the growing city of Dashville. He did not say much about it, but his actions betrayed most unmistakably the thoughts that were uppermost in his heart. He liked to linger over the small poster sheet which David had brought home, to admire the row of animal pictures around the border, and to reread the flamboyant description of the various attractions which gave to this exhibition its unique and never-to-be-excelled character as an educator of youth. The "purty paper," instead of being tacked up in the big-house as at first suggested, was nailed upon the wall of the cabin, directly under my library shelf, and in that convenient location it was the subject of daily study and admiration on the part of every member of the family.

"I think that Robert would be greatly benefited by seeing those wonderful animals," said father; "but very likely the show is to some extent a place of idle diversion, and I don't feel quite free to take him there."

"What does the Bible say about such things?" asked mother.

"I can not recall any passage that refers to animal shows," he answered; "but thee will remember that animals are often mentioned. There was the great fish that swallowed Jonah, and the bears that devoured the bad children when they laughed at the prophet's bald head, and the jackass that talked to Balaam. All these teach good moral lessons, but so far as my memory serves me, nothing is said about menageries or great moral exhibitions."

Then, to satisfy his mind and dispel his doubts, he reexamined the Bible from beginning to end to make sure whether there were any denunciations against animal shows or against the people who attended them; but he found not one. Next, he looked in the "Discipline"  of which he had always been an earnest student; he turned over the leaves of George Fox's Journal  and of Penn's No Cross No Crown  and of John Woolman's writings. In all these he found many testimonies against vain amusements and worldly diversions, but not a word in depreciation of moral exhibitions or in opposition to the wholesome instruction of young people by means of well conducted menageries of wild animals. The result of his investigations was the removal of a great weight from his mind.

At the supper table on Third-day evening, after a prolonged study of the poster sheet, he said to me suddenly:

"Well, Robert, how would thee like to go to the Great Moral Exhibition to-morrow?"

"Oh, father! May I go?" I cried, scarcely daring to imagine that such a treat could be possible.

"Yes, I feel free to say that thee has my consent; and I will take thee to Dashville in the wagon and will see that no harm comes to thee."

"But, Stephen," said mother, with a note of warning in her voice, "is thee right sure that thy mind is clear to do this thing?"

"Yes, it is very clear," he answered. "I have been wrestling with this matter ever since David brought us that paper, and I am free to say that it is all right. Does thee remember what Benjamin Seafoam said when he was here? He said, 'Give that boy every opportunity for improvement that comes in his way. He will profit by it to his own well-being and the glory of God.' Now, I've studied this question, pro and con, as the lawyers say, and I have reached the conclusion that it is right for me to take Robert to see those wild aftimals."

"Well, I don't know anything about them pros and cons," returned mother; "but thee knows what skinners them lawyers is, and thee'd better not take their word for it."

"I am not taking anybody's word," said father. "I am obeying the Inner Light, and I feel that my mind is clear. Robert must go to this instructive exhibition, and if any of the rest of the family wish to go, I shan't object to taking them also."

"Well, Stephen, what thee says about things is 'most always right," said mother resignedly; "but animal shows and menageries ain't for sich folks as me. Mandy Jane and the boys may go; but my mind is clear to stay at home and tend to things."

"Same way with me!" croaked Aunt Rachel, amid the shadows. "I'd rother set by the warm fire with some good tobacker than see all the bears and monkeys that ever was."

"That's right!" said Jonathan, his mouth full of hot mush. "I'd rother save my money than spend it to see any amount of tarnal animiles. What good would it do? I'm goin' to finish sowin' that patch of wheat tomorrow, show or no show."

But David slapped his thigh and declared that he "didn't keer if it rained pitchforks he was bound to go along with father and help take keer of Towhead while he looks at them there animiles. And," he added, "we'll drive the two young fillies to the wagon and let the folks at Dashville see what sort of horses grows over here in the New Settlement."

As for Cousin Mandy Jane, she of course was delighted with the prospect of a day's release from the endless routine of housekeeping and other domestic duties. "I hain't been furder than the Four Corners in goodness knows when," she said; "and I think it'll do me as much good as Robert to see all them things at the moral show."

And so the preliminaries being settled, the rest of the evening was devoted by the entire family to the making of preparations for the eventful journey on the morrow.

Until very late in the night I lay awake in my trundle-bed, and with Inviz close beside me, enjoyed in anticipation the wonderful experiences which, I felt sure, were to be realized on the morrow. And Inviz whispered beautiful tales in my ear, and told me that I would see much more of the world than was visible from the top of our oak tree; I would see a mighty river and a busy city, things hitherto known to me only through books; and I would also see strange people—perhaps some very wicked people who had never been to meetin'; and more than all, I would see a great many real live animals, and the sight of them would somehow make me much wiser and more moral. O my dear Leonidas, my dear Leona, if you should chance during the period of your frivolous lives to make a dozen trips to Europe or Cathay, your pre-enjoyment of them all will never be equal to that which was mine on that ever memorable night that heralded my first broader outlook upon the world!

We started quite early in the morning. The air was sharp and bracing, although not cold; and the wagon, with the pair of frisky young horses attached and David at the lines, went rattling along the road at a speed that put all our meetin'-going records to shame. Father sat on the driver's board with David, erect and silent, but less dignified and more human than he usually appeared when journeying abroad. Cousin Mandy Jane, with the long strings of her blue sunbonnet fluttering in the wind, was seated on the straw at the bottom of the wagon bed, mute for very happiness, and lost in silent contemplation of the pink figures on her new calico dress so lately brought from the 'Hio. As for myself, I chose to squat on the bag of horse feed at the rear of the wagon, where I could be alone and enjoy without interruption the sights and sounds along the road.

I was dressed, not in Little William's clothes—for I had outgrown them—but in a new suit which mother, with great labor and half-concealed pride, had just completed for me. My legs were encased in a pair of brown jeans breeches which reached to my ankles. My shirt, which was my special pride, was of scarlet "flannen," and was cut large to give me plenty of room to grow. And instead of a coat I wore a short blue robin of fine linsey-woolsey, the collar of which, although exceeding plain, was stiff, and very uncomfortable as it rubbed against my ears. My great shock of towy hair was surmounted by that same old nondescript cap which Aunt Rachel had knitted from lamb's wool and dyed brown in the juice of black walnuts. Of course, my feet were bare—for what boy was ever known to wear shoes before the first snowfall came!—but they had been scrubbed to perfect cleanness and were nothing to be ashamed of.

The ride as far as the Four Corners was devoid of interest, for every part of the road was familiar to me. But when at length the long causeway through the marsh was safely crossed, and we had surmounted the hill beyond it, we entered into a region which to me was a veritable terra incognita.

The rest of the journey was therefore a voyage of discovery. The road led us by straight and narrow ways through a remnant of the big woods, where the ax of the settler had as yet scarcely been heard. We passed a few small cabins, squatted conveniently near the roadside and surrounded by half-clad children, weed-choked garden patches and lonely deadenin's. Farther on, the country became more civilized, and long before we reached Dashville my eyes were gladdened by the sight of broad fields and green meadows and yellowing orchards much like those in our own New Settlement. Everywhere there were evidences of the great autumn rains that had recently fallen throughout that section of the country. The numerous mudholes were full of water; in the woods, the low places were naught but shallow pools; the brooks—but no, there were no brooks in those days—the branches, I should have said, were full to the brink and running over.

"I reckon we won't ford the river to-day," remarked father.

"I kinder think not," said David. "It's my 'pinion we'll find her a-b'ilin' like blazes."

Soon after leaving the big woods behind us, we came into a broader and better road which showed signs of much travel, and David remarked that it was the main highway between Dashville and the wild prairie country of Terry Hut. Here we soon became aware that other people besides ourselves were that day seeking to improve their minds and cultivate their moral perceptions. One wagon after another, filled with gaily-dressed and evidently very worldly people, overtook and passed us. Plain farmers with their wives and children, some on horseback and some on foot, were plodding along in the same direction, all headed toward the place where the Great Moral Exhibition was about to hold forth.

Presently we overtook a very tired and mud-bedraggled Friend whom I recognized as one of the overseers of our meetin'. His name was Abner Jones, and he was noted for his zeal in looking after such of the members as were prone to fall into ungodly ways. He stood by the roadside and looked up at us so shamefacedly that I am sure father was inwardly shaking with laughter although outwardly he appeared as solemn as a meetin'-house on First-day mornin'.

"How's thee, Abner?" he said pleasantly to the wayfarer.

"Howdy, Stephen," was the response.

"If thee's going to town, thee might as well get in and ride with us," said father.

"Well, I s'pose it's just as cheap ridin' as walkin'," returned Abner; and without another word he climbed into the wagon, shook hands with us all, and sat down on the straw beside Cousin Mandy Jane.

"I see thee's like the rest of us," said father; "thee's on thy way to the Great Moral Exhibition."

"What!" answered Abner indignantly. "If thee means the big show that I've heerd somethin' about, thee's mightily mistaken. I want thee to understand that I'm not so worldly-minded as to be a-traipsin' all the way to Dashville jist to see that abomination of desolation."

"Well, but, Abner," returned father, "thee knows that a man is judged by the company he keeps; and thee seems to be going in the same direction with the rest of us."

"Yes, I'm goin' to Dashville," said the good man; "but I'm not after seein' no worldly diversions. Thee knows that the county court is goin' to set there to-morrow, and I thought I'd walk over there to-day to see if I couldn't git put on the jury. Fifty cents a day ain't no bad wages in wet weather like this when I cain't be a-plowin'."

"Then I understand that thee has no desire to see the wild animals?" said father.

"Desire! Why, that's the very furdest from my thoughts. I'd scorn to look at them animiles even if they went right before my eyes. This show business is all a delusion and a snare, and them that indulges in goin' to see it is openly violatin' the discipline of Our Society."

"Well, my mind is clear," answered father composedly; and squaring himself around on the driver's seat, he plainly intimated that the discussion was ended.

For some time we rode onward in silence, each one of us wrapped in his own contemplations. The road was very muddy and our progress was slow. Friend Abner fidgeted uneasily in his seat on the straw; but aside from an occasional brief remark to Cousin Mandy Jane, he held his tongue. He would have been delighted to engage in some doctrinal controversy, but he knew that father was in no humor to listen to him and that the better part of valor at the present time was silence.

And thus we proceeded for a mile, for two miles and perhaps more, without a single incident occurring to break the monotony of the tedious journey. But there was something on Abner's mind; he was possessed of an interesting bit of news, and the farther we proceeded the more anxious he became to impart it to us and thus exhibit his superior knowledge. Finally, human nature could be repressed no longer. Pointing to some peculiar indentations in the roadway, he suddenly exclaimed:

"Stephen, does thee see them there holes in the mud? Thee cain't guess what they air."

"So far as I can judge," answered father, "they appear to be holes in the mud."

"They look like the tracks of some big animile," said Cousin Mandy Jane.

"Thee's right, Mandy," remarked Abner. "That's what they air. Them biggest ones is elephant tracks and them queer-lookin' ones is camel tracks. They do say that two cages of wild animiles and a elephant and a camel went along this road last evenin', a-goin' to Dashville—and them's the tracks of 'em."

"Gee whiz, alive!" shouted David. "Does thee say them's elephant tracks? Why, they look like holes that some feller's made by jammin' a bee-gum into the mud eendwise. Thee'd never believe that any animile could make sich tracks as them."

"Well, Abner, I'm astonished," said father. "I'm not astonished at those tracks, but I'm astonished that thee is so worldly-minded as to look at such things. Surely, if thy eyes are so holy as to scorn the sight of a few harmless beasts, it is not at all safe for thee to look at their tracks."

The tension was relaxed, and even Abner smiled at the good-natured sally. All of us began to look eagerly for more of the wonderful tracks, and each one ventured to make remarks upon their varied shapes and the great strides which the strange beasts had made while marching along the muddy highway. And thus in gayer mood we proceeded on our journey.

It was about noon when we reached the brink of the great stream which I had never known by any other name than "the river." The approach to it was over a long causeway, or corduroy road, which wound through a labyrinth of bayous all full to the brim with muddy water. The river itself was on a rampage, in places overflowing the banks and flooding the bottom lands on both sides of the stream. It looked to me much like our crick at home, only it was ten times wider and nobody knew how deep.

With much chuckling and whooping to the fillies, David drove our wagon up on a broad dry portion of the river bank, and stopped. With wondering eyes I looked across the vast lake-like stream, and a feeling of awe crept into my heart as I thought of its tremendous depth. Its width was not more than a hundred yards—a good strong stone's-throw for David—yet to my unpractised vision the expanse seemed ocean-like. On the farther side there was a range of bluffs rising at least ten feet above the water's level—a tremendous height—and some distance beyond, on still loftier ground, I could see a collection of houses which I rightly conjectured was the metropolis of Dashville.

And now my eyes were attracted by a strange object floating upon the surface of the water and evidently moving toward the opposite shore. A moment's observation convinced me that it was a boat—but how different from the boats I had read about or seen in pictures! It was a flat-bottomed craft and looked not unlike the big thrashing floor in our barn, except that it was larger and was surrounded by a strong wooden railing and chains to keep people from falling overboard. I looked in vain for masts, or sails, or oars—there was none; but I observed that, to the up-stream side of the floating platform, a pair of strong ropes were attached, and these were fastened by means of pulleys to a much larger rope which extended entirely across the river, each end being firmly lashed to the trunk of a giant tree. Two men with long slender poles, which they thrust to the bottom of the stream, were pushing the boat slowly along, while in it stood a dozen men, women, and children, three or four dogs, as many saddle-horses, and a large wagon with a team of horses attached. It was quite clear to me that the object of the ropes was to prevent the sluggish current from carrying the vessel down-stream, while at the same time they guided the boat straight across from one landing-place to the other.

"It's the ferryboat," said Cousin Mandy Jane, anxious to give me some useful information. "Folks has to cross on it, when the river's up like it is now, 'cause the water's too deep to be forded. When the river's down, folks can drive right over through the riffle 'cause then the water don't come above the wagon hubs."

"And must we cross on the ferryboat?" I asked.

"Oh, certainly," she answered; "but thee needn't be skeered. I've crossed on it twice, and it's jist as safe as settin' here in the wagon. There ain't a speck of danger."

I watched the great ugly craft as it was slowly poled to the opposite shore. With much plodding care, as though the fate of empires depended on it, the captain and crew (there being one of each) succeeded in mooring it securely to the little landing-place at the foot of the "bluffs"; the guard chains were let down, and the load of passengers and freight was disgorged. Then after a long and most unreasonable delay, the mooring ropes were thrown off and the empty boat was poled back to the landing where we were waiting.

Of what occurred during the next half-hour I have but a confused recollection, for the excitement of the occasion almost unnerved me. I realized the fact that David had driven our wagon upon the ferryboat, that a great crowd of people had followed it on foot, that there was much talking and shouting and shoving, that the captain and crew were pushing their poles down in the water and making the awkward vessel glide strangely out into the stream while the waves rolled threateningly around us. But everything was so new to me, so fearful, so confusing, that I had no distinct conception of what was being done. I crouched on the straw near Cousin Mandy Jane, and with the energy of despair, clutched the corner of her apron and waited for the dire confusion to subside. The scraping of the poles, the babel of voices, the roaring of the waves increased; and my courage so utterly forsook me that I dared not raise my head above the level of the dashboard or turn my eyes toward the furious depths over which we were floating. I thought then of poor Robinson Crusoe and his dreadful plight when his boat was swallowed up by the waves, and like him I was ready to cry out, "O God!" Never, never again would I plan to be a sailor and run away to sea.

By and by, to my inexpressible relief, I heard the cheerful grating of the ferryboat against the landing-place on the farther shore; I heard the captain shouting; there was a trampling of many feet; and then our wagon began to move forward, and in another moment the wheels were crunching the pebbles in the solid road at the foot of the great bluffs. I raised myself up and peeped over the edge of the wagon bed. The mighty river was being left behind us; the young fillies were trotting briskly along the highway; we had already entered the outskirts of the metropolis of Dashville.

Yes, this was Dashville—our county seat, the growing city that was soon to outstrip Nopplis in population and even put to shame those boastful centers of trade on the 'Hio, Larnceburg and Madison! My great first fright having left me, I now boldly stood up behind father and looked eagerly around in order that no sight or sound might escape me. But alas! the newness, the multiplicity of strange things, brought still further bewilderment. It was like hearing a dozen different but most exquisite melodies all at the same time; you are charmed by their variety and beauty, but in the end you have no distinct recollection of any one of them—you retain simply the consciousness that the whole performance was very, very wonderful.

I remember that for some little distance we drove between two rows of most beautiful houses, some of which were painted as white as snow; and there were great crowds of men and women and children rushing this way and that, as if they did not know what they were about; and at the place where we finally left the horses and wagon, good Abner Jones bade us a hearty farewell and departed to look after his job as juryman. And now there was such a multiplicity of strange sounds and rude people, and so much jostling and crowding, that I would gladly have given up my dearest possessions if only I could have been suddenly transported back to our peaceful, quiet cabin home. I clung to father's coat tail, lest I should be lost in the dreadful crowd; and I scarcely dared raise my eyes lest some evil-minded person should see me and do me harm.

The tent of the Great Moral Exhibition was standing in a field at the farther end of the town, and thither we directed our steps. A flag of red and white stripes, with a cluster of stars on a blue ground in one corner, was floating from a pole at the center of the tent. It was the first flag that I had ever seen; but I knew what it was and what it represented, having read about it in my geography, and my heart swelled with patriotism and pride as I saw it floating in the wind. The crowd in the show grounds was even greater than that in the street, and there were a thousand things to excite my wonder and fill my mind with bewilderment. The many strange sounds, the shouting of the lemonade man, the hoarse cries of the barker at the door of the fat woman's tent, the occasional roar of an invisible lion, the neighing of horses—all these, being mingled in one messy jumble, completely deprived me of every feeling of enjoyment.

We stopped at a covered wagon, near the entrance to the big tent, in order, as I supposed, to admire a man who was holding a number of bank bills between his fingers and talking very loud about the numerous attractions to be seen inside. On the rough table beside him there were two stacks of beautifully printed cards, some red and some blue. Presently father stepped up to him and asked:

"What is the price of tickets to thy show?"

"Thirty-one and a quarter cents—children half price," was the lordly answer.

"I thought thee advertised the price to be only twenty-five cents," said father, in a tone that was both firm and dignified.

"A twenty-five cent ticket admits you only to see the animals," answered the man; "but if you pay the extra fip you will be permitted to remain and see the circus which begins at two o'clock."

"I care nothing for thy circus," said father; "but we should like to see thy animals and be profited by the Great Moral Exhibition which thee has so freely advertised. So I will take three twenty-five-cent tickets for me and David and Mandy Jane, and one half-price ticket for the little boy;—that will be eighty-seven-and a-half cents;" and he began to count out the money.

"But you had better stay for the circus," said the man, looking at me very kindly as if he saw the buddings of genius sprouting from my eyebrows. "The circus is the principal part of our Great Moral Exhibition; and I see that you have a little boy with you. What is his name?"

"Robert Dudley," answered father.

"Well, now, it would be a pity to deprive Robert Dudley of the pleasure and wholesome moral instruction afforded by our world-famous, chaste, magnanimous and soul-stirring circus performance which is free to all for the very modest sum of one fip. Let me advise you, for that boy's sake if for nothing else, stay and see the circus. The tickets for your whole party will cost you only a dollar and ten cents."

"Well." said father in a strangely hesitating tone, "my mind is not quite clear. Yet, since thee recommends it so highly, here is the price."

The man took the money and gave him the tickets. I was utterly ignorant of the uses of such things, and I hoped that father, having no particular admiration for the pretty cards, would give them to me to lay on my library shelf with my other literary treasures. But alas! I was doomed to disappointment; for as we passed through the narrow entrance into the tent, a villainous-looking fellow with a long black beard, reached out his hand and took every one of the costly bits of paper. I expected that father would kindly remonstrate; but no! he did not appear to be at all disturbed, but walked onward, as dignified and self-possessed as though he were entering the meetin'-house at Dry Forks. Ah! if the bearded villain had only known what sort of man it was he had robbed, he would have returned the tickets promptly and vowed to live an honest life forever after!

And now, the noise and confusion seemed to be redoubled, and had not Cousin Mandy Jane taken my trembling hand in hers, I verily believe I should have collapsed into unconsciousness. For what were those indescribable sounds that were issuing continuously from a sort of platform at the farther side of the tent? It seemed to me that all the beasts and birds in that "magnanimous" and instructive moral show were groaning, growling, yelling, screeching, in one united chorus; and to add volume to the discordant uproar, some strong-lunged person seemed to be blowing a dinner horn while another with a club was beating lustily upon an empty salt barrel. Shivers of something that was not exactly fear ran down my backbone, my knees grew weak, and my lips quivered almost to the point of blubbering. Then, suddenly, the remembrance came to me of the long line of noble ancestors that had lived in former days and borne the name of Dudley—and not a single coward among them; and the thought added courage to my heart and dispelled every lingering fear.

The sounds grew louder and shriller as we advanced, and I was more and more puzzled to make out their origin and cause. Could it be that all the beasts of the show were huddled together in that one spot beside the platform, and that their yowling and screeching were a part of the regular program of the great show? Strange to say, but few of the people in the tent seemed to notice the sounds at all, and none was the least bit frightened.

Presently the crowd around us separated, and we had a very distinct view of the platform whence the sounds most certainly issued. There were no wild beasts near it or upon it; but it was occupied by a dozen red-faced men with caps on their heads and big brass buttons on their coats. Some of these men were blowing into funnily-shaped horns, and some were playing on what David said were fiddles, and a boy, with a hammer in each hand, was beating upon the two ends of a short barrel as though his life depended upon it. So, here was the cause of all those strange sounds! It was certainly nothing to be afraid of.

"That's the brass band!" whispered Cousin Mandy Jane.

"Where?" I asked. "What?"

"Why, them there men, with the horns and other things. They're makin' music."

"Is that great noise music?"

"Certainly! Ain't it purty?"

Then suddenly my conscience smote me. Music, indeed! What business had we to be listening to it? Had I not been taught from infancy that music, and especially instrumental music, was an idle diversion, a profitless amusement and therefore a thing religiously to be avoided? And this was music! I was familiar with the music of nature, the singing of the birds, the whistling of the winds, the indescribable melodies that were rife in the fields and woods throughout every summer day—but this was the first man-made music I had ever heard. Was I doing right to listen to it? I looked up at father. Deep solemnity was in his face, and he appeared puzzled and ill at ease. I knew he was not clear in his mind.

"We will go over to the cages and look at the wild beasts," he said.

As I remember, there were not more than a dozen cages, all told; and having once arrived in their vicinity, I gave myself up wholly to the observation of the strange creatures that were confined in them. The tooting and banging of the brass band were forgotten, the surging and confusion of the crowds ceased to give me concern. With David on one side of me, and Cousin Mandy Jane on the other, while father took the lead, I successfully made the rounds of the most resplendent menagerie on earth. We looked at the half-dozen ridiculous monkeys, the two grizzly bears, the young lion (which I now think was only a huge dog), the horned horse, the wonderful ostrich, the porcupine, the zebra; and at each cage we lingered long, making such comments as came into our minds, and comparing the real animal with its picture in my animal book at home.

"Jist look at that there big animile with his tail a stickin' out atween his eyes," David remarked.

"Oh, that is the elephant," I said, quickly recognizing the mighty beast; "and that long thing is not his tail, but his trunk."

"Laws' sakes!" cried Cousin Mandy Jane. "Ain't he a whopper though? I wonder what he carries in that there trunk of his'n."

And thus each beast received its due amount of admiration and wonder.

The hour passed rapidly. We had made two full rounds of the cages, not neglecting to pay due honor to the one lone camel and the pair of Shetland ponies which seemed to me worth more than all the rest of the menagerie. We had viewed with becoming awe the bushy-haired lady who had kindly come all the way from Circassia, that breeding place of beauty, to exhibit herself to the wondering eyes of Hoosier back-woodsers. We were about to start on our third round, when the blare of the brass band and the stentorian voice of the master showman announced that the circus performance was about to begin.

We stood still in a convenient place of vantage, and watched closely in order that we might not miss any of the great moral lessons that were about to be presented. A pair of clowns who excited our sincerest pity because of their evident lack of intelligence, were the first to appear in the sawdust ring. Their jokes were no doubt original and extremely funny, savoring of the ancient wit with which Noah's sons amused themselves during their voyage over the mountains; but, so far as our little party was concerned, all their efforts fell upon barren ground, provoking not a smile. Then, amid a renewed blaring from the brass band, a wonderful and indescribable creature came floating out into the center of the arena. Its gauzy wings, attenuated waist and semi-transparent skirt reminded me of nothing so much as a huge butterfly; but it was not a butterfly, for it had only two legs and its head bore some remote resemblance to that of a human being. It pirouetted for a moment around the center pole of the big tent, and then, standing tiptoe on one foot, raised the other leg to an angle of twenty degrees above the horizon, and —. I saw no more, for father at that juncture suddenly seized my arm, and turning toward the door, said commandingly to David and Cousin Mandy Jane:

"Come! It's time for us to go home!"

With long strides and dignified mien he led the way through the crowd of gaping spectators, scarcely glancing to the right or the left, but firmly holding my hand as though he feared I would look backward and thus meet the fate of Lot's wife. We had advanced almost to the open door and were beginning to smell the air of the blessed fields, when suddenly we came squarely upon Abner Jones, standing with his mouth open and gazing enraptured at the performance in the ring. Father could not pass him in silence; with his free hand he suddenly twitched the saintly man's coat tail, at the same time calling sharply, "Abner!"

Abner was so startled that he fell over against the canvas wall of the tent and recovered his feet with difficulty.

"Abner, I'm surprised to see thee here," said father very deliberately.

"Oh, I—I—I ain't here to—to—to—to look at them there animiles," he stuttered. "I j-jist come in to look for Judge Davis and try to g-g-g-git him to put me on that jury. Has thee seen him?"

"No," answered father in his severest tones: "but I've seen a hypocrite;" and he proceeded calmly on his way, while we three followed him, not daring to glance behind, not venturing to utter a word.

We walked straightway across the fields and soon came to the public hitching-posts where we had left the wagon and the team of fillies; and while father and David were putting things in readiness for the homeward journey, Cousin Mandy Jane and I climbed silently over the tail-board of the wagon and sat down on the straw. There was a strange expression in father's face—an expression which sometimes came to him in his kindliest and most thoughtful moods, and I fancied that he was inwardly striving to overcome all the ugly feelings which the events of the afternoon had aroused. As he climbed up to his place on the driver's board he looked back at me very tenderly and said:

"Well, Robert, which of all the animals did thee like best?"

"The ponies," I answered. "I would rather have them than anything else in the world."

"And thee, Mandy Jane?"

"I kinder think I liked the elephant best," she answered; "he was so big and solemn like, and so queer all over."

"And thee, David?"

"Well, if I had the choosin', I think I'd take that there tarnal moral, every time. It's my 'pinion that it's the beatin'est animile in the whole maginerie. Git ep!"

The last two words were addressed to the fillies; and they, being chilled by standing blanketless in the frosty October air and moreover impatient to return to their far-distant stalls, sprang forward quickly and were away. It was as much as David could do, with his strong arms, to restrain them and keep them in the roadway. Down the main street toward the river the wagon went bumping and clattering at so unusual a rate that all the folks in the houses ran to their doors and looked out expecting to see a real runaway.

"I think I wouldn't drive quite so fast," said father. "There is a law against making a horse trot along the streets of a town, and moreover it's dangerous."

David, throwing his whole weight upon the lines and exerting all his strength, succeeded in bringing the restive creatures down to a walk, just as the sheriff of the county (as we afterward learned) was trying to conceal himself in the court-house in order to evade his duty, as a magistrate, to arrest us for violating the law.

And now for the space of perhaps two minutes all went well.

"I guess we'll git home about ten o'clock," said David.

"Or a little earlier," said father.

We were rounding the turn at the end of the street where the road began to slope downward to the ferry landing; and there, in the very narrowest place, we suddenly encountered a big log-wagon drawn by two yoke of sturdy oxen. At the same moment, the wind set some dead leaves to blowing across the street, and this caused the frisky fillies to spring forward and shy toward the left side of the road. The whole thing occurred so suddenly and so unexpectedly that David lost control of his team. There was a sharp crash against the rear of the log-wagon; our own vehicle was thrown over upon its side and one wheel went bowling along by itself until it was halted in the midst of a friendly thorn bush. As for the occupants of our wagon, we were all pitched headlong into the mud; but David, clinging with heroic energy to the lines, turned the "critters" sharply round against a strong rail fence, and then brought them to an immediate standstill.

"Anybody hurt?" asked father, as he sprang up and ran to the fillies' heads.

Cousin Mandy Jane and I were on our feet in a moment and looking each other over. We were covered with mud, but in nowise injured, not even scratched by the sudden tumble. The only damage done by the accident was the breaking of the hind axle of the wagon close to the hub of the left-hand wheel. Was not that enough? Here we were, five hours' journey from home, and our only means of travel rendered useless. What was to be done?

The ox-driver kindly came to our assistance and recovered the broken wheel. "It's no use talkin'," he said; "that there wagon won't travel nary a mile till a new axletree is put into it; and th' ain't no wagon maker anywhere nigh to Dashville, s'fur as I know."

"But we've got to go home to-night," wailed Cousin Mandy Jane. "We've jist got to."

"I don't see how it's goin' to be did," muttered David.

"Listen to me," said father, not at all frustrated or alarmed. "I have a plan that will set all things right. David, thee and Mandy Jane will have to get on the fillies and ride home bareback; and that will be no hardship to any one. I and Robert will stay with the wagon, and to-morrow I will make a new axletree for it and put it in traveling order. On the day after to-morrow, either thee or Jonathan must fetch the fillies over for us again, and we will ride home in the mended wagon. Under the circumstances, I don't see that any better plan can be devised than that."

"Thee's right, father!" said David. "Mandy Jane, thee may ride my filly, 'cause it's the gentlest, and I'll git a-straddle of Jonathan's tarnal critter."

It required but a short time to transform the fillies from driving horses to saddle horses minus the saddles; and David and Cousin Mandy Jane were soon mounted on the spirited little steeds and ready for their long ride homeward.

"But where will thee sleep, father, and what will thee do with little Robert?" asked Cousin Mandy Jane, hesitating to leave us.

"Thee may put thy mind to rest on that score," answered father. "I'll find a shelter somewhere for the wagon; and then Robert and me will sleep in it on the straw. And I have no doubt that we can buy something to eat at the store, and a cup of milk at almost any of the houses. So thee may tell mother that we are well provided for, and that we'll be at home on Sixth-day afternoon without fail."

"I'll tell her as thee says," she returned; "but we'll be mighty uneasy till we see you again."

"No need of that," said father. And the next minute the fillies and their riders disappeared around the turn of the road and we two were left alone, strangers in a strange land and night coming on.