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_ "I ran away from a circus," began Ben, but got
no further, for Bab and Betty gave a simultaneous
bounce of delight, and both cried out at once, --
"We've been to one! It was splendid!"
"You wouldn't think so if you knew as much about
it as I do," answered Ben, with a sudden frown and
wriggle, as if he still felt the smart of the blows he
had received. "We don't call it splendid; do we,
Sancho?" he added, making a queer noise, which
caused the poodle to growl and bang the floor irefully
with his tail, as he lay close to his master's feet,
getting acquainted with the new shoes they wore.
"How came you there?" asked Mrs. Moss, rather
disturbed at the news.
"Why, my father was the 'Wild Hunter of the
Plains.' Didn't you ever see or hear of him?" said
Ben, as if surprised at her ignorance.
"Bless your heart, child, I haven't been to a circus
this ten years, and I'm sure I don't remember what
or who I saw then," answered Mrs. Moss, amused, yet
touched by the son's evident admiration for his father.
"Didn't you see him?" demanded Ben, turning to
the little girls.
"We saw Indians and tumbling men, and the Bounding Brothers
of Borneo, and a clown and monkeys, and a little mite of a
pony with blue eyes. Was he any of them?" answered Betty,
innocently.
"Pooh! he didn't belong to that lot. He always
rode two, four, six, eight horses to oncet, and I used
to ride with him till I got too big. My father was
A No. 1, and didn't do any thing but break horses
and ride 'em," said Ben, with as much pride as if his
parent had been a President.
"Is he dead?" asked Mrs. Moss.
"I don't know. Wish I did," -- and poor Ben gave
a gulp as if something rose in his throat and choked
him.
"Tell us all about it, dear, and may be we can find
out where he is," said Mrs. Moss, leaning forward to
pat the shiny dark head that was suddenly bent over
the dog.
"Yes, ma'am. I will, thank y'," and with an effort
the boy steadied his voice and plunged into the
middle of his story.
"Father was always good to me, and I liked bein'
with him after granny died. I lived with her till I
was seven; then father took me, and I was trained for
rider. You jest oughter have seen me when I was
a little feller all in white tights, and a gold belt, and
pink riggin', standing' on father's shoulder, or hangin'
on to old General's tail, and him gallopin' full pelt;
or father ridin' three horses with me on his head wavin'
flags, and every one clapping like fun."
"Oh, weren't you scared to pieces?" asked Betty,
quaking at the mere thought.
"Not a bit. I liked it."
"So should I!" cried Bab enthusiastically.
"Then I drove the four ponies in the little chariot,
when we paraded," continued Ben, "and I sat on
the great ball up top of the grand car drawed by
Hannibal and Nero. But I didn't like that, 'cause
it was awful high and shaky, and the sun was hot,
and the trees slapped my face, and my legs ached
holdin' on."
"What's hanny bells and neroes?" demanded
Betty.
"Big elephants. Father never let 'em put me up
there, and they didn't darst till he was gone; then I
had to, else they'd 'a' thrashed me."
"Didn't any one take your part? " asked Mrs.
Moss.
"Yes, 'm, 'most all the ladies did; they were very
good to me, 'specially 'Melia. She vowed she wouldn't
go on in the Tunnymunt act if they didn't stop knockin'
me round when I wouldn't help old Buck with the
bears. So they had to stop it, 'cause she led first
rate, and none of the other ladies rode half as well
as 'Melia."
"Bears ! oh, do tell about them!" exclaimed Bab,
in great excitement, for at the only circus she had
seen the animals were her delight.
"Buck had five of 'em, cross old fellers, and he
showed 'em off. I played with 'em once, jest for fun,
and he thought it would make a hit to have me show
off instead of him. But they had a way of clawin' and
huggin' that wasn't nice, and you couldn't never tell
whether they were good-natured or ready to bite your
head off. Buck was all over scars where they'd
scratched and bit him, and I wasn't going to do it;
and I didn't have to, owin' to Miss St. John's standin'
by me like a good one."
"Who was Miss St. John?" asked Mrs. Moss,
rather confused by the sudden introduction of new
names and people.
"Why she was 'Melia, -- Mrs. Smithers, the ringmaster's
wife. His name wasn't Montgomery any more'n hers was St.
John. They all change 'em to something fine on the bills,
you know. Father used to be Senor Jose Montebello; and I
was Master Adolphus Bloomsbury, after I stopped bein' a
flyin' Coopid and a infant Progidy."
Mrs. Moss leaned back in her chair to laugh at
that, greatly to the surprise of the little girls, who
were much impressed with the elegance of these high-sounding
names.
"Go on with your story, Ben, and tell why you
ran away and what became of your Pa," she said,
composing herself to listen, really interested in the
child.
"Well, you see, father had a quarrel with old
Smithers, and went off sudden last fall, just before
tenting season' was over. He told me he was
goin' to a great ridin' school in New York and when
he was fixed he'd send for me. I was to stay in
the museum and help Pedro with the trick business.
He was a nice man and I liked him, and 'Melia
was goin' to see to me, and I didn't mind for
awhile. But father didn't send for me, and I began
to have horrid times. If it hadn't been for 'Melia
and Sancho I would have cut away long before I
did."
"What did you have to do?"
"Lots of things, for times was dull and I was smart.
Smithers said so, any way, and I had to tumble up
lively when he gave the word. I didn't mind doin'
tricks or showin' off Sancho, for father trained him,
and he always did well with me. But they wanted
me to drink gin to keep me small, and I wouldn't,
'cause father didn't like that kind of thing. I used
to ride tip-top, and that just suited me till I got a fall
and hurt my back; but I had to go on all the same,
though I ached dreadful, and used to tumble off, I
was so dizzy and weak."
"What a brute that man must have been! Why
didn't 'Melia put a stop to it?" asked Mrs. Moss,
indignantly.
"She died, ma'am, and then there was no one left
but Sanch; so I run away."
Then Ben fell to patting his dog again, to hide the
tears he could not keep from coming at the thought
of the kind friend he had lost.
"What did you mean to do?"
"Find father; but I couldn't, for he wasn't at the
ridin' school, and they told me he had gone out West
to buy mustangs for a man who wanted a lot. So
then I was in a fix, for I couldn't go to father, didn't
know jest where he was, and I wouldn't sneak back
to Smithers to be abused. Tried to make 'em take
me at the ridin' school, but they didn't want a boy,
and I travelled along and tried to get work. But I'd
have starved if it hadn't been for Sanch. I left him
tied up when I ran off, for fear they'd say I stole him.
He's a very valuable dog, ma'am, the best trick dog
I ever see, and they'd want him back more than they
would me. He belongs to father, and I hated to leave
him; but I did. I hooked it one dark night, and
never thought I'd see him ag'in. Next mornin' I
was eatin' breakfast in a barn miles away, and dreadful
lonesome, when he came tearin' in, all mud and
wet, with a great piece of rope draggin'. He'd
gnawed it and come after me, and wouldn't go back
or be lost; and I'll never leave him again, will I, dear
old feller?"
Sancho had listened to this portion of the tale with
intense interest, and when Ben spoke to him he stood
straight up, put both paws on the boy's shoulders,
licked his face with a world of dumb affection in his
yellow eyes, and gave a little whine which said as
plainly as words, --
"Cheer up, little master; fathers may vanish and
friends die, but I never will desert you."
Ben hugged him close and smiled over his curly,
white head at the little girls, who clapped their
hands at the pleasing tableau, and then went to pat
and fondle the good creature, assuring him that they
entirely forgave the theft of the cake and the new
dinner-pail. Inspired by these endearments and certain
private signals given by Ben, Sancho suddenly
burst away to perform all his best antics with unusual
grace and dexterity.
Bab and Betty danced about the room with rapture,
while Mrs. Moss declared she was almost afraid to
have such a wonderfully intelligent animal in the
house. Praises of his dog pleased Ben more than
praises of himself, and when the confusion had subsided
he entertained his audience with a lively account
of Sancho's cleverness, fidelity, and the various
adventures in which he had nobly borne his part.
While he talked, Mrs. Moss was making up her
mind about him, and when he came to an end of his
dog's perfections, she said, gravely, --
"If I can find something for you to do, would you
like to stay here awhile?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am, I'd be glad to!" answered Ben,
eagerly; for the place seemed home-like already, and
the good woman almost as motherly as the departed
Mrs. Smithers.
"Well, I'll step over to the Squire's to-morrow
to see what he says. Shouldn't wonder if he'd
take you for a chore-boy, if you are as smart as
you say. He always has one in the summer, and
I haven't seen any round yet. Can you drive
cows?"
"Hope so;" and Ben gave a shrug, as if it was a
very unnecessary question to put to a person who had
driven four calico ponies in a gilded chariot.
"It mayn't be as lively as riding elephants and
playing with bears, but it is respectable; and I guess
you'll be happier switching Brindle and Buttercup
than being switched yourself," said Mrs. Moss, shaking
her head at him with a smile.
"I guess I will, ma'am," answered Ben, with sudden
meekness, remembering the trials from which he had
escaped.
Very soon after this, he was sent off For a good night's
sleep in the back bedroom, with Sancho to watch over
him. But both found it difficult to slumber till the
racket overhead subsided; for Bab insisted on playing
she was a bear and devouring poor Betty, in
spite of her wails, till their mother came up and put
an end to it by threatening to send Ben and his dog
away in the morning, if the girls "didn't behave and
be as still as mice."
This they solemnly promised; and they were soon
dreaming of gilded cars and mouldy coaches, runaway
boys and dinner-pails, dancing dogs and twirling teacups. _
Read next: CHAPTER V. BEN GETS A PLACE
Read previous: CHAPTER III. BEN
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