That evening was the longest Toby ever knew. He wandered from one
cage of animals to another; then to see the performance in the
ring, and back again to the animals, in the vain hope of passing
the time pleasantly.

But it was of no use; that lump in his throat would remain there,
and the thoughts of what he was about to do would trouble him
severely. The performance failed to interest him, and the animals
did not attract until he had visited the monkey cage for the third
or fourth time. Then he fancied that the same venerable monkey
who had looked so knowing in the afternoon was gazing at him with
a sadness which could only have come from a thorough knowledge of
all the grief and doubt that was in his heart.

There was no one around the cages, and Toby got just as near to
the iron bars as possible. No sooner had he flattened his little
pug nose against the iron than the aged monkey came down from the
ring in which he had been swinging, and, seating himself directly
in front of Toby's face, looked at him most compassionately.

It would not have surprised the boy just then if the animal had
spoken; but as he did not, Toby did the next best thing and spoke
to him.

"I s'pose you remember that you saw me this afternoon, an' somebody
told you that I was goin' to join the circus, didn't they?"

The monkey made no reply, though Toby fancied that he winked an
affirmative answer; and he looked so sympathetic that he continued,
confidentially: