The scene was so exciting, and his efforts to stick to the narrow
seat so great, that he really had no time to attend to the homesick
feeling that had crept over him during the first part of the evening.

The long procession of carts and wagons drove slowly out of the
town, and when the last familiar house had been passed the driver
spoke to Toby for the first time, since they started.

"Pretty hard work to keep on -- eh, sonny?"

"Yes," replied the boy, as the wagon jolted over a rock, bouncing
him high in air, and he, by strenuous efforts, barely succeeded in
alighting on the seat again, "it is pretty hard work; an' my name's
Toby Tyler."

Toby heard a queer sound that seemed to come from the man's throat,
and for a few moments he feared that his companion was choking.
But he soon understood that this was simply an attempt to laugh,
and he at once decided that it was a very poor style of laughing.

"So you object to being called sonny, do you?"

"Well, I'd rather be called Toby, for, you see, that's my name."

"All right, my boy; we'll call you Toby. I suppose you thought it
was a mighty fine thing to run away an' jine a circus, didn't you?"

Toby started in affright, looked around cautiously, and then tried
to peer down through the small square aperture, guarded by iron