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Toby Tyler by James Otis
page 17 of 186 (09%)
driver around so closely that, had he desired, he could not have
rid himself of his little companion.

The scene which presented itself to Toby's view was strange and
weird in the extreme. Shortly after he had attached himself to the
man with whom he was to ride, the performance was over, and the work
of putting the show and its belongings into such a shape as could
be conveyed from one town to another was soon in active operation.
Toby forgot his grief, forgot that he was running away from the
only home he had ever known -- in fact, forgot everything concerning
himself -- so interested was he in that which was going on about
him.

As soon as the audience had got out of the tent and almost before
the work of taking down the canvas was begun.

Torches were stuck in the earth at regular intervals, the lights
that had shone so brilliantly in and around the ring had been
extinguished, the canvas sides had been taken off, and the boards that
had formed the seats were being packed into one of the carts with
a rattling sound that seemed as if a regular fusillade of musketry
was being indulged in. Men were shouting; horses were being driven
hither and thither, harnessed to the wagons, or drawing the huge
carts away as soon as they were loaded; and everything seemed in
the greatest state of confusion, while really the work was being
done in the most systematic manner possible.

Toby had not long to wait before the driver informed him that the
time for starting had arrived, and assisted him to climb up to the
narrow seat whereon he was to ride that night.
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