"Very well, then," said Dad, "very well. There's th' tarpaulin there,
and plenty bales and old bags whenever you're ready."

Dave was delighted, and he and Dad and Joe ran out to see where the tent
could be pitched, and ran in again wetter than the dog.

One day a circus-tent went up in our yard. It attracted a lot of notice.
Two of the Johnsons and old Anderson and others rode in on draught-horses
and inspected it. And Smith's spring-cart horse, that used to be driven
by every day, stopped in the middle of the lane and stared at it; and,
when Smith stood up and belted him with the double of the reins, he bolted
and upset the cart over a stump. It was n't a very white tent. It was
made of bags and green bushes, and Dad and Dave and Paddy Maloney were two
days putting it up.

We all assisted in the preparations for the circus. Dad built seats out
of forked sticks and slabs, and Joe gathered jam-tins which Mother filled
with fat and moleskin wicks to light up with.

Everyone in the district knew about our circus, and longed for the opening
night. It came. A large fire near the slip-rails, shining across the
lane and lighting up a corner of the wheat-paddock, showed the way in.

Dad stood at the door to take the money. The Andersons--eleven of
them--arrived first. They did n't walk straight in. They hung about for
a while. Then Anderson sidled up to Dad and talked into his ear. "Oh!
that's all right," Dad said, and passed them all in without taking any
money.

Next came the Maloneys, and, as Paddy belonged to the circus, they also