Meanwhile there was plenty to distract her mind from such disquieting2 matters. The station work happened to be particularly engrossing3 just then, and day after day saw Norah in the saddle, close to her father's big black mare4, riding over hills and plains, bringing up the slow sheep or galloping5 gloriously after cattle that declined to be mustered6. There were visits of inspection7 to be made to the farthest portions of the run, and busy days in the yards, when the men worked at drafting the stock, and Norah sat perched on the high “cap” of a fence and, watching with all her eager little soul in her eyes, wished heartily9 that she had been born a boy. Then there were a couple of trips with Mr. Linton to outlying townships, and on one of these occasions Norah had a piece of marvellous luck, for there was actually a circus in Cunjee—a real, magnificent circus, with lions and tigers and hyaenas, and a camel, and other beautiful animals, and, best of all, a splendid elephant of meek10 and mild demeanour. It was the elephant that broke up Norah's calmness.
“Oh, Daddy!” she said. “Daddy! Oh, can't we stay?”
Mr. Linton laughed.
“I was expecting that,” he said. “Stay? And what would Brownie be thinking?”
Norah's face fell.
“Oh,” she said. “I'd forgotten Brownie. I s'pose it wouldn't do. But isn't it a glorious elephant, Daddy?”
“It is, indeed,” said Mr. Linton, laughing. “I think it's too glorious to leave, girlie. Fact is, I had an inkling the circus was to be here, so I told Brownie not to expect us until she saw us. She put a basket in the buggy, with your tooth-brush, I think.”
The face of his small daughter was sufficient reward.
“Daddy!” she said. “Oh, but you are the MOST Daddy!” Words failed her at that point.
Norah said that it was a most wonderful “spree.” They had dinner at the hotel, where the waiter called her “Miss Linton,” and in all ways behaved precisely11 as if she were grown up, and after dinner she and her father sat on the balcony while Mr. Linton smoked and Norah watched the population arriving to attend the circus. They came from all quarters—comfortable old farm wagons12, containing whole families; a few smart buggies; but the majority came on horseback, old as well as young. The girls rode in their dresses, or else had slipped on habit skirts over their gayer attire13, with great indifference14 as to whether it happened to be crushed, and they had huge hats, trimmed with all the colours of the rainbow. Norah did not know much about dress, but it seemed to her theirs was queer. But one and all looked so happy and excited that dress was the last thing that mattered.
It seemed to Norah a long while before Mr. Linton shook the ashes from his pipe deliberately15 and pulled out his watch. She was inwardly dancing with impatience16.
“Half-past seven,” remarked her father, shutting up his watch with a click. “Well, I suppose we'd better go, Norah. All ready, dear?”
“Yes, Daddy. Must I wear gloves?”
“Why, not that I know of,” said her father, looking puzzled. “Hardly necessary, I think. I don't wear 'em. Do you want to?”
“Goodness—no!” said his daughter hastily.
“Well, that's all right,” said Mr. Linton. “Stow them in my pocket and come along.”
Out in the street there were unusual signs of bustle17. People were hurrying along the footpath18. The blare of brass19 instruments came from the big circus tent, round which was lingering every small boy of Cunjee who could not gain admission. Horses were tied to adjoining fences, considerably20 disquieted21 by the brazen22 strains of the band. It was very cheerful and inspiring, and Norah capered23 gently as she trotted24 along by her father.
Mr. Linton gave up his tickets at the first tent, and they passed in to view the menagerie—a queer collection, but wonderful enough in the eyes of Cunjee. The big elephant held pride of place, as he stood in his corner and sleepily waved his trunk at the aggravating25 flies. Norah loved him from the first, and in a moment was stroking his trunk, somewhat to her father's anxiety.
“I hope he's safe?” he asked an attendant.
“Bless you, yes, sir,” said that worthy26, resplendent in dingy27 scarlet28 uniform. “He alwuz knows if people ain't afraid of him. Try him with this, missy.” “This” was an apple, and Jumbo deigned29 to accept it at Norah's hands, and crunched30 it serenely31.
“He's just dear,” said Norah, parting reluctantly from the huge swaying brute32 and giving him a final pat as she went.
“Better than Bobs?” asked her father.
“Pooh!” said Norah loftily. “What's this rum thing?”
“A wildebeest,” read her father. “He doesn't look like it.”
“Pretty tame beast, I think,” Norah observed, surveying the stolid-looking animal before her. “Show me something really wild, Daddy.”
“How about this chap?” asked Mr. Linton.
They were before the tiger's cage, and the big yellow brute was walking up and down with long stealthy strides, his great eyes roving over the curious faces in front of him. Some one poked33 a stick at him—an attention which met an instant roar and spring on the tiger's part, and a quick, and stinging rebuke34 from an attendant, before which the poker35 of the stick fled precipitately36. The crowd, which had jumped back as one man, pressed nearer to the cage, and the tiger resumed his quick, silent prowl. But his eyes no longer roved over the faces. They remained fixed37 upon the man who had provoked him.
“How do you like him?” Mr. Linton asked his daughter.
Norah hesitated.
“He's not nice, of course,” she said. “But I'm so awfully38 sorry for him, aren't you, Daddy? It does seem horrible—a great, splendid thing like that shut up for always in that little box of a cage. You feel he really ought to have a great stretch of jungle to roam in.”
“And eat men in? I think he's better where he is.”
“Well, you'd think the world was big enough for him to have a place apart from men altogether,” said Norah, holding to her point sturdily. “Somewhere that isn't much wanted—a sandy desert, or a spare Alp! This doesn't seem right, somehow. I think I've seen enough animals, Daddy, and it's smelly here. Let's go into the circus.”
The circus tent was fairly crowded as Norah and her father made their way in and took the seats reserved for them, under the direction of another official in dingy scarlet. Round the ring the tiers of seats rose abruptly39, each tier a mass of eager, interested faces. A lame40 seller of fruit and drinks hobbled about crying his wares41; at intervals42 came the “pop” of a lemonade bottle, and there was a steady crunching43 of peanut shells. The scent44 of orange peel rose over the circus smell—that weird45 compound of animal and sawdust and acetylene lamps. In the midst of all was the ring, with its surface banked up towards the outer edge.
They had hardly taken their seats when the band suddenly struck up in its perch8 near the entrance, and the company entered to the inspiring strains. First came the elephant, very lazy and stately—gorgeously caparisoned now, with a gaily46 attired47 “mahout” upon his neck. Behind him came the camel; and the cages with the other occupants of the menagerie, looking either bored or fierce. They circled round the ring and then filed out.
The band struck up a fresh strain and in cantered a lovely lady on a chestnut48 horse. She wore a scarlet hat and habit, and looked to Norah very like a Christmas card. Round the ring she dashed gaily, and behind her came another lady equally beautiful in a green habit, on a black horse; and a third, wearing a habit of pale blue plush who managed a piebald horse. Then came some girls in bright frocks, on beautiful ponies49; and some boys, in tights, on other ponies; and then men, also in tights of every colour in the rainbow, who rode round with bored expressions, as if it were really too slow a thing merely to sit on a horse's back, instead of pirouetting there upon one foot. They flashed round once or twice and were gone, and Norah sat back and gasped50, feeling that she had had a glimpse into another world—as indeed she had.
A little figure whirled into the ring—a tiny girl on a jet-black pony51. She was sitting sideways at first, but as the pony settled into its stride round the ring she suddenly leaped to her feet and, standing52 poised53, kissed her hands gaily to the audience. Then she capered first on one foot, then on another; she sat down, facing the tail, and lay flat along the pony's back; she assumed every position except the natural one. She leapt to the ground (to Norah's intense horror, who imagined she didn't mean to), and, running fiercely at the pony, sprang on his back again, while he galloped54 the harder. Lastly, she dropped a handkerchief, which she easily recovered by the simple expedient55 of hanging head downwards56, suspended by one foot, and then galloped out of the ring, amid the frantic57 applause of Cunjee.
“Could you do that, Norah?” laughed Mr. Linton.
“Me?” said Norah amazedly; “me? Oh, fancy me ever thinking I could ride a bit!”
One of the lovely ladies, in a glistening58 suit of black, covered with spangles, next entered. She also preferred to ride standing, but was by no means idle. A gentleman in the ring obligingly handed her up many necessaries—plates and saucers and knives—and she threw these about the air, as she galloped with great apparent carelessness, yet never failed to catch each just as it seemed certain to fall. Tiring of this pursuit, she flung them all back at the gentleman with deadly aim, while he, resenting nothing, caught them cleverly, and disposed of them to a clown who stood by, open-mouthed. Then the gentleman hung bright ribbons across the ring, apparently59 with the unpleasant intention of sweeping60 the lady from her horse—an intention which she frustrated61 by lightly leaping over each in turn, while her horse galloped beneath it. Finally, the gentleman—whose ideas really seemed most unfriendly—suddenly confronted her with a great paper-covered hoop62, the very sight of which would have made an ordinary horse shy wildly—but even at this obstacle the lady did not lose courage. Instead, she leaped straight through the hoop, paper and all, and was carried out by her faithful steed, amidst yells of applause.
Norah gasped.
“Oh, isn't it perfectly63 lovely, Daddy!” she said.
Perhaps you boys and girls who live in cities, or near townships where travelling companies pay yearly visits, can have no idea of what this first circus meant to this little bush maid, who had lived all her twelve years without seeing anything half so wonderful. Perhaps, too, you are lucky to have so many chances of seeing things—but it is something to possess nowadays, even at twelve, the unspoiled, fresh mind that Norah brought to her first circus.
Everything was absolutely real to her. The clown was a being almost too good for this world, seeing that his whole time was spent in making people laugh uproariously, and that he was so wonderfully unselfish in the way he allowed himself to be kicked and knocked about—always landing in positions so excruciatingly droll64 that you quite forgot to ask if he were hurt. All the ladies who galloped round the ring, and did such marvellous things, treating a mettled steed as though he were as motionless as a kitchen table, seemed to Norah models of beauty and grace. There was one who set her heart beating by her daring, for she not only leaped through a paper-covered hoop, but through three, one after the other, and then—marvel of marvels—through one on which the paper was alight and blazing fiercely! Norah held her breath, expecting to see her scorched65 and smouldering at the very least; but the heroic rider galloped on, without seeming so much as singed66. Almost as wonderful was the total indifference of the horses to the strange sights around them.
“Bobs would be off his head!” said Norah.
She was especially enchanted67 with a small boy and girl who rode in on the same brown pony, and had all sorts of capers68, as much off the pony's back as upon it. Not that it troubled them to be off, because they simply ran, together, at the pony, and landed simultaneously69, standing on his back, while the gallant70 steed galloped the more furiously. They hung head downwards while the pony jumped over hurdles71, to their great apparent danger; they even
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