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The hours passed in an uproar of fun. The table was dismantled, toys, tools, and dishes put away, and the feast had sped into the past. “Missee Lancastler, she say you heap good show. Now you heap hungly. You catchee him plenty glub.” With that he uncovered a treat that made them forget the circus. They munched the sandwiches, the luscious fruit, candy, and cake, and other good things from Mrs. Lancaster’s generous pantry, and discussed the procession; voted Mrs. Lancaster a trump; and decided to have a circus every year. “Oh!” interposed Betty, “but they didn’t throw a sorft stone. I don’t b’lieve in sorft answers no more.” He smiled wanly, and her heart ached for him; but she knew sympathy was unsafe just then. “If you could see that comical, crooked eye of yours blinking at me, like a chicken asking your intentions, you’d laugh, Billy.”.