Under the Lilacs (16 page)

“You couldn’t walk four miles,” began Ben.

“Yes, I could, as easy as not.”

“You haven’t got any money.”

“You have; I saw you showing your dollar, and you could pay for me, and Ma would pay it back.”

“Can’t wait for you to get ready.”

“I’ll go as I am. I don’t care if it is my old hat,” and Bab jerked it onto her head.

“Your mother wouldn’t like it.”

“She won’t like your going, either.”

“She isn’t my missis now. Miss Celia wouldn’t care, and I’m going, anyway.”

“Do, do take me, Ben! I’ll be just as good as ever was, and I’ll take care of Sanch all the way,” pleaded Bab, clasping her
hands and looking round for some sign of relenting in the faces of the boys.

“Don’t you bother; we don’t want any girls tagging after us,” said Sam, walking off to escape the annoyance.

“I’ll bring you a roll of chickerberry lozengers, if you won’t tease,” whispered kindhearted Billy, with a consoling pat on
the crown of the shabby straw hat.

“When the circus comes here you shall go, certain sure, and Betty too,” said Ben, feeling mean while he proposed what he knew
was a hollow mockery.

“They never do come to such little towns; you said so, and I think you are very cross, and I won’t take care of Sanch, so,
now!” cried Bab, getting into a passion, yet ready to cry, she was so disappointed.

“I suppose it wouldn’t do—” hinted Billy with a look from Ben to the little girl, who stood winking hard to keep the tears
back.

“Of course it wouldn’t. I’d like to see
her
walking eight miles. I don’t mind paying for her; it’s getting her there and back. Girls are such a bother when you want
to knock round. No, Bab, you
can’t
go. Travel right home and don’t make a fuss. Come along, boys; it’s most eleven, and we don’t want to walk fast.”

Ben spoke very decidedly; and, taking Billy’s arm, away they went, leaving poor Bab and Sanch to watch them out of sight,
one sobbing, the other whining dismally.

Somehow those two figures seemed to go before Ben all along the pleasant road, and half spoilt his fun; for though he laughed
and talked, cut canes, and seemed as merry as a grig, he could not help feeling that he ought to have asked leave to go, and
been kinder to Bab.

“Perhaps Mrs. Moss would have planned somehow so we could
all
go, if I’d told her. I’d like to show her round, and she’s been real good to me. No use now. I’ll take the girls a lot of
candy and make it all right.”

He tried to settle it in that way and trudged gaily on, hoping Sancho wouldn’t feel hurt at being left, wondering if any of
“Smithers’s lot” would be round, and planning to do the honors handsomely to the boys.

It was very warm; and just outside of the town they paused by a wayside watering trough to wash their dusty faces, and cool
off before plunging into the excitements of the afternoon. As they stood refreshing themselves, a baker’s cart came jingling
by; and Sam proposed a hasty lunch while they rested. A supply of gingerbread was soon bought; and, climbing the green bank
above, they lay on the grass under a wild cherry tree, munching luxuriously, while they feasted their eyes at the same time
on the splendors awaiting them; for the great tent, with all its flags flying, was visible from the hill.

“We’ll cut across those fields — it’s shorter than going by the road — and then we can look round outside till it’s time to
go in. I want to have a good go at everything, especially the lions,” said Sam, beginning on his last cookie.

“I heard ’em roar just now”; and Billy stood up to gaze with big eyes at the flapping canvas which hid the king of beasts
from his longing sight.

“That was a cow mooing. Don’t you be a donkey, Bill. When you hear a real roar, you’ll shake in your boots,” said Ben, holding
up his handkerchief to dry, after it had done double duty as towel and napkin.

“I wish you’d hurry up, Sam. Folks are going in now. I see ’em!” and Billy pranced with impatience; for this was his first
circus, and he firmly believed that he was going to behold all that the pictures promised.

“Hold on a minute, while I get one more drink. Buns are dry fodder,” said Sam, rolling over to the edge of the bank and preparing
to descend with as little trouble as possible.

He nearly went down head first, however; for, as he looked before he leaped, he beheld a sight which caused him to stare with
all his might for an instant, then turn and beckon, saying in an eager whisper, “Look here, boys — quick!”

Ben and Billy peered over, and both suppressed an astonished “Hullo!” for there stood Bab, waiting for Sancho to lap his fill
out of the overflowing trough.

Such a shabby, tired-looking couple as they were! Bab with a face as red as a lobster and streaked with tears, shoes white
with dust, playfrock torn at the gathers, something bundled up in her apron, and one shoe down at the heel as if it hurt her.
Sancho lapped eagerly, with his eyes shut; all his ruffles were gray with dust, and his tail hung wearily down, the tassel
at half mast, as if in mourning for the master whom he had come to find. Bab still held the strap, intent on keeping her charge
safe, though she lost herself; but her courage seemed to be giving out, as she looked anxiously up and down the road, seeing
no sign of the three familiar figures she had been following as steadily as a little Indian on the war trail.

“Oh, Sanch, what
shall
I do if they don’t come along? We must have gone by them somewhere, for I don’t see anyone that way, and there isn’t any
other road to the circus, seems to me.”

Bab spoke as if the dog could understand and answer; and Sancho looked as if he did both, for he stopped drinking, pricked
up his ears, and, fixing his sharp eyes on the grass above him, gave a suspicious bark.

“It’s only squirrels; don’t mind, but come along and be good; for I’m so tired, I don’t know what to do!” sighed Bab, trying
to pull him after her as she trudged on, bound to see the outside of that wonderful tent, even if she never got in.

But Sancho had heard a soft chirrup; and, with a sudden bound, twitched the strap away, sprang up the bank, and landed directly
on Ben’s back as he lay peeping over. A peal of laughter greeted him; and, having got the better of his master in more ways
than one, he made the most of the advantage by playfully worrying him as he kept him down, licking his face in spite of his
struggles, burrowing in his neck with a ticklish nose, snapping at his buttons, and yelping joyfully, as if it was the best
joke in the world to play hide-and-seek for four long miles.

Before Ben could quiet him, Bab came climbing up the bank, with such a funny mixture of fear, fatigue, determination, and
relief in her dirty little face that the boys could not look awful if they tried.

“How dared you come after us, miss?” demanded Sam, as she looked calmly about her, and took a seat before she was asked.

“Sanch
would
come after Ben; I couldn’t make him go home, so I had to hold on till he was safe here, else he’d be lost, and then Ben would
feel bad.”

The cleverness of that excuse tickled the boys immensely; and Sam tried again, while Ben was getting the dog down and sitting
on him.

“Now you expect to go to the circus, I suppose.”

“Course I do. Ben said he didn’t mind paying, if I could get there without bothering him, and I have; and I’ll go home alone.
I ain’t afraid. Sanch will take care of me, if you won’t,” answered Bab, stoutly.

“What do you suppose your mother will say to you?” asked Ben, feeling much reproached by her last words.

“I guess she’ll say you led me into mischief”; and the sharp child nodded, as if she defied him to deny the truth of that.

“You’ll catch it when you get home, Ben; so you’d better have a good time while you can,” advised Sam, thinking Bab great
fun, since none of the blame of her pranks would fall on him.

“What would you have done if you
hadn’t
found us?” asked Billy, forgetting his impatience in his admiration for this plucky young lady.

“I’d have gone on and seen the circus, and then I’d have gone home again and told Betty all about it,” was the prompt answer.

“But you haven’t any money.”

“Oh, I’d ask somebody to pay for me. I’m so little, it wouldn’t be much.”

“Nobody would do it; so you’d have to stay outside, you see.

“No, I wouldn’t. I thought of that, and planned how I’d fix it if I didn’t find Ben. I’d make Sanch do his tricks, and get
a quarter that way; so, now!” answered Bab, undaunted by any obstacle.

“I do believe she would! You are a smart child, Bab; and if I had enough I’d take you in myself,” said Billy, heartily; for,
having sisters of his own, he kept a soft place in his heart for girls, especially enterprising ones.

“I’ll take care of her. It was very naughty to come, Bab; but, so long as you did, you needn’t worry about anything. I’ll
see to you; and you shall have a real good time,” said Ben, accepting his responsibilities without a murmur, and bound to
do the handsome thing by his persistent friend.

“I thought you would”; and Bab folded her arms, as if she had nothing further to do but enjoy herself.

“Are you hungry?” asked Billy, fishing out several fragments of gingerbread.

“Starving!” and Bab ate them with such a relish that Sam added a small contribution; and Ben caught some water for her in
his hand, where the little spring bubbled up beside a stone.

“Now, you wash your face and spat down your hair, and put your hat on straight, and then we’ll go,” commanded Ben, giving
Sanch a roll on the grass to clean him.

Bab scrubbed her face till it shone; and, pulling down her apron to wipe it, scattered a load of treasures collected in her
walk. Some of the dead flowers, bits of moss, and green twigs fell near Ben, and one attracted his attention — a spray of
broad, smooth leaves, with a bunch of whitish berries on it.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, poking it with his foot.

“In a swampy place, coming along. Sanch saw something down there; and I went with him, ‘cause I thought maybe it was a muskrat,
and you’d like one if we could get him.”

“Was it?” asked the boys all at once, and with intense interest.

“No; only a snake, and I don’t care for snakes. I picked some of that, it was so green and pretty. Thorny likes queer leaves
and berries, you know,” answered Bab, “spatting” down her rough locks.

“Well, he won’t like that, nor you either; it’s poisonous, and I shouldn’t wonder if you’d got poisoned, Bab. Don’t touch
it! swamp sumac is horrid stuff—Miss Celia said so”; and Ben looked anxiously at Bab, who felt her chubby face all over, and
examined her dingy hands with a solemn air, asking eagerly—

“Will it break out on me ‘fore I get to the circus?”

“Not for a day or so, I guess; but it’s bad when it does come.”

“I don’t care, if I see the animals first. Come quick, and never mind the old weeds and things,” said Bab, much relieved;
for present bliss was all she had room for now in her happy little heart.

C
HAPTER
14

P
utting all care behind them, the young folks ran down the hill, with a very lively dog gamboling beside them, and took a delightfully
tantalizing survey of the external charms of the big tent. But people were beginning to go in, and it was impossible to delay
when they came round to the entrance.

Ben felt that now “his foot was on his native heath,” and the superb air of indifference with which he threw down his dollar
at the ticket office, carelessly swept up the change, and strolled into the tent with his hands in his pockets, was so impressive
that even big Sam repressed his excitement and meekly followed their leader, as he led them from cage to cage, doing the honors
as if he owned the whole concern. Bab held tight to the flap of his jacket, staring about her with round eyes, and listening
with little gasps of astonishment or delight to the roaring of lions, the snarling of tigers, the chatter of the monkeys,
the groaning of camels, and the music of the very brass band shut up in a red bin.

Five elephants were tossing their hay about in the middle of the menagerie, and Billy’s legs shook under him as he looked
up at the big beasts whose long noses and small, sagacious eyes filled him with awe. Sam was so tickled by the droll monkeys
that the others left him before the cage and went on to see the zebra, “striped just like Ma’s muslin
gown,” Bab declared. But the next minute she forgot all about him in her raptures over the ponies and their tiny colts; especially
one mite of a thing who lay asleep on the hay, such a miniature copy of its little mouse-colored mamma that one could hardly
believe it was alive.

“Oh, Ben, I
must
feel of it! — the cunning baby horse!” and down went Bab inside the rope to pat and admire the pretty creature, while its
mother smelt suspiciously at the brown hat, and baby lazily opened one eye to see what was going on.

“Come out of that, it isn’t allowed!” commanded Ben, longing to do the same thing, but mindful of the proprieties and his
own dignity.