ABNER BOLTON
"Now I'll see about makin' the saddle," said Bob, "'cause I've seen 'em
a good many times in a circus, an' I know jest how they're made. While
I'm doin' that you fellers must be fixin' 'bout who else we'll have in
the show. Leander Leighton will come up here to-morrow, so's we can hear
how he plays, an' we must have everything fixed by then."
"Why didn't he come to-day?" asked Ben, thinking that all the members of
the firm should have been present at this first rehearsal.
"Well, you see, he had to split some wood, an' he had to take care of
the baby. I offered to help him with the wood; but he said he couldn't
get away any quicker if I did, for just as soon as the baby saw another
feller waitin' 'round, she'd yell so awful hard he'd have to stay in all
day."
This explanation as to the absence of the band appeared to be perfectly
satisfactory to those present, and they began to discuss the merits of
certain of their companions in order to decide upon the proper ones to
enlist as members, since the number of their performers was not so large
as they thought it should be in a show where an admission fee of three
cents was to be charged.
Just as they were getting well into their discussion, and, of course,
speaking of such matters as managers should keep a profound secret from
the public, Bob cried out:
"There comes Abner Bolton! He's always runnin' 'round where he hain't
wanted; an' I wonder how he come to know we was here? I'll send him off
mighty quick now, you see."
The boy who had disturbed Bob so greatly was so near when he was first
discovered that by the time the threat had been uttered he was close
upon them. He was a small boy, not more than eight years old, and hardly
as large as a boy of six should be; he walked on crutches because of his
deformed legs, which hung withered and useless, barely capable of
supporting his slight weight.
"Now, what do _you_ want?" asked Bob, in an angry tone.
"I don't want anything," was the mild reply, as the cripple halted just
outside the shade, as if not daring to come any farther until invited.
"I heard you was goin' to get up a circus, an' I thought perhaps you'd
let me watch you, 'cause I wouldn't bother you any."
"You would bother us, an' you can't stay 'round here, for we hain't
goin' to have anybody watchin' us. You may come to the show if you can
get three cents."
"I don't s'pose I could do that," said the boy, looking longingly
towards the shade, but still standing in the sun. "I don't have any
chance to get money, an' I do wish you boys would let me stay where you
are, for it's so awful lonesome out to the poor-farm, an' I can't run
around as you can."
"Well, you can't stay here, an' the sooner you go back to the village
the better we'll like it, for we don't want anybody to know what we're
talkin' about."
Toby had attempted to speak once or twice while Bob was engaged with the
cripple from the poor-farm; but he did not get an opportunity until
Abner turned to go away, looking thoroughly sad and disheartened.
"Don't go, Abner, but come and set down here where it's cool, an'
perhaps we can fix it for you."
The cripple turned as Toby spoke, and the look which came into his face
went right to the heart of the boy, who for ten long weeks had known
what it was to be almost entirely without a friend.
"I don't see what you want him 'round here for," said Bob, petulantly,
as Abner seated himself by Toby's side, thoroughly exhausted by his long
walk. "He can't do nothin'; an' if he could, we don't want no fellers
from the poor-farm mixed up with the show."
"It don't make any difference if he does live to the poor-farm," said
Toby, as he put his little brown hand on Abner's thin fingers. "He has
to stay there 'cause his father and mother's dead, an' perhaps I'd been
there, 'cept for Uncle Dan'l. If I'd thought before about his bein'
lonesome an' not bein' able to play like the rest of us, I'd gone out to
see him; an' now we do know it we'll let him stay with us, an' perhaps
he can do something in the circus."
"The fellers will laugh at us, an' say we're runnin' a poorhouse show,"
replied Bob, sulkily.
"Well, let 'em laugh; we'll feel a good deal better'n they do, 'cause
we'll know we're tryin' to let a little feller have some fun what don't
get many chances;" and, in his excitement, Toby spoke so loudly that Joe
came running up to see what was the matter.
"Let him stay 'round here to-day, 'cause we've got all through
practisin', an' then tell him to keep away," said Ben, thinking this
idea a very generous one.
"He can belong to the show jest as well as not; an' if you fellers will
let him, I'll give you my part of all the money we make."
This proposition of Toby's put the matter on a very different basis, and
both Ben and Bob now looked favorably inclined towards it.
"Don't you do that, Toby," said Abner, his eyes filling with tears
because of the kindness shown him. "I'll go right away, an' I won't
come into the village again to bother you."
"You shall come into the village every day, Abner, an' you won't bother
us at all, for you shall go 'long of me everywhere I do, an' I won't
never walk any faster'n you can;" and Toby moved his seat nearer Abner,
to show that he took him under his especial care.
"He might help tend the door," said Joe, kindly, anxious to please Toby,
"an' that'll give me a chance to do more howlin' for the hyenas, 'cause
that'll be 'bout all I oughter do if I have to hold the hoops."
"Yes, he can do that," and Toby was very eager now, "an' we can get him
a stool to sit on, an' he can do jest as much as if he could stand up."
By this time Bob and Ben had decided that, in consideration of Toby's
offer, Abner should be counted as one of the company, and the matters
under discussion that had been interrupted by the cripple's coming were
again taken up.
Owing to the possible chance that Joe could not succeed in training the
blind horse sufficiently to make him useful in the ring, it was
necessary to know just what animals they could procure, and Bob offered
to see Chandler Merrill for the purpose of securing the services of his
Mexican pony, who had never allowed any one to ride him without first
having a severe battle.
"We can train him down all right," said Bob; "an' you fellers come down
now while I find out 'bout the pony, so's we can come back here after
dinner."
As it was very important that this matter should be settled as soon as
possible, Bob's advice was acted upon; and as the boys started to go,
Toby said:
"Come, Abner, you come home with me an' get some dinner, an' then you
can come back here when I do."
Bob was disposed to make sport of this sudden friendship; but Toby paid
no attention to what he said, and if any of them wanted to talk with
him, they too were obliged to walk with the boy from the poor-farm.
By the time they arrived at Uncle Daniel's, Toby had formed many plans
for making the life of the homeless boy more cheerful than it ever had
been.