. . .
The other party lingers awhile looking up wistfully at the
unresponsive windows of the sleeping-cars, behind which are the
happy circus-actors. Perhaps the show-boy that stands up on top
of his daddy's head will look out. If he should raise the window
and smile at you, and get to talking with you maybe he would
introduce you to his pa, and tell him that you would like to go
with the show, and his pa would be a nice sort of a man, and he'd
say: "Why, yes. I guess we can fix that all right." And there
you'd be.
Or if it didn't come out like that, why, maybe the boy would be
another "Little Arthur, the Boy Circus-rider," like it told about
in he Ladies' Repository. It seems there was a man, and one day
he went by where there was a circus, and in a quiet secluded,
vine-clad nook only a few steps from the main tent, he heard
somebody sigh, oh, so sadly and so pitifully! Come to find out,
it was Little Arthur, the Boy Circus-rider. He had large
sensitive violet eyes, and a wealth of clustering ringlets, and he
was very, very unhappy. So the man took from his pocket a Bible
that he happened to have with him, and he read from it to Little
Arthur, which cheered him up right away, because up to that moment
he had only heard of the Bible. (Think of that!) And that night
at the show, what do you s'pose? Little Arthur fell off the horse
and hurt himself.
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