“You see,” said Polly, “as it rains to-day, I think we ought to have the Circus story.”

“Oh! oh! oh!” cried all the Five Little Peppers together, Ben not being ashamed to add his shout of approval too.

“Do you think you really ought to, Polly?” he asked, coming out of it, and leaving the others in the babel of rejoicing. “Won’t you want it more for some other time?”

Polly ran over and caught him by the jacket sleeve.

“I really think we ought to have it to-day, Bensie,” she whispered. “You see, they’ve been awfully good, and it’s rained for three days now, and you know there wasn’t enough mush for breakfast, and Mamsie couldn’t get any coats to do this week, ’cause Mr. Atkins didn’t dare let her have any more to sew until he’d sold what he had, and trade’s so poor.” And Polly sighed, and wiped away two tears. Ben turned away a moment, and swallowed something hard that was in his throat. Polly, at sight of this, began to laugh; and she said gayly, “Yes, indeed, we’ll have the Circus story now. Get your chairs, and let’s sit round in a ring, children.”

With that the babel of rejoicing changed into a scuffle for chairs and crickets, Joel protesting that he should sit next to Polly, and Phronsie scuttling along to crowd into Polly’s lap, till the little old kitchen fairly rang with the noise.

“Let’s sit in a ring on the floor, Polly, that’s best,” begged little David. So they all got down, and Polly had Joel on one side and Phronsie on the other; though to be sure everybody was next to everybody else, as the ring was constantly moving up closer till it was a bunch of Five Little Peppers; and everybody looked as if there had been plenty of breakfast, and all sorts of good things in the Little Brown House enough for all time to come.

“Now, you know, children,” said Polly, folding her hands in her lap, and feeling quite elegant to be sitting down in the morning telling stories; and she looked at them impressively, “I’ve promised you the Circus story for a lo-ong time.”

“Yes, we know,” said Joel, hitching impatiently. “Don’t talk, but begin.”

Polly shot him a reproving glance that made him duck behind Davie, who sat next, as she went on, “And now to-day I’m going to give it to you. I know Mamsie’d say ’twas best, everything’s all clean spick span;” and she glanced with pride around the little old kitchen that shone from top to toe.

“Mamsie’d like it,” cooed Phronsie; and she patted her pink apron down and looked at Polly to begin.

“The Circus story,” said Polly, beginning with a great flourish, “is about so many best and splendid things that you must keep quite still and not interrupt me a single teenty wee bit.”

They one and all protested that they wouldn’t say a word. So she began, while each one sat as still as a mouse.

“Way far over the top of a high mountain,” said Polly, “so far that no one had ever been entirely over it, at least to come back, lived a big man. He was so large that he couldn’t have found any house in all Badgertown big enough to get into if he had tried ever and ever so much. He had arms and legs and eyes to match, you know, and feet and ears, so he could take perfectly dreadfully large steps, and he could lift as big rocks in his hands as the one hanging over Cherry Brook. Oh, and he could see with his big eyes that stood right out of his face just like cannon balls, so that nothing could hide from him, even if it tried ever so much.”

Joel twisted uneasily and wriggled up nearer to Polly’s side. “And one day the big man sat down on a spur of the mountain and dangled his feet down the side. This was his swing, you know; and he always sat there when he was thinking hard over anything, or making plans.

“Well, there he sat thinking—thinking away as hard as ever he could. And pretty soon he got up and slapped his knee, just as Mr. Tisbett does, you know; and he roared out, ‘The very thing—the very thing!’ And folks down in the valley all ran to their windows and said it thundered, and they drove into the barns and sheds and got ready for the storm. Well, after the big man stopped roaring ‘the very thing,’ and slapping his knee, he looked down the mountain, the side he lived on, you know, and the first thing he saw was a hippo—hippo—moppi—poppicus.” Here Polly paused to take breath. She was very fond of long words, and it was her great delight to wrestle with them; so now she thought she had done very well indeed, and she ran on in the best of spirits—“Oh, he was so big—there isn’t anything, children, that can tell you how big he was! Well, the big man no sooner saw him than he ran like lightning on his perfectly dreadfully large feet down his side of the mountain, and he said to the hippo—pippo—poppi—moppicus—‘Here, you, sir, put your head in this;’ and he twitched out of one of his side pockets a string. It was made of leather, and was just as strong—oh, you can’t think. Well the ‘hippo,’ I’m going to call him that for short,” said Polly suddenly, quite tired out, “took a good look all around, but he saw no way of escape; and the big man kept growing more dreadfully cross every minute he waited, so the poor hippo at last said, ‘As you please, sir,’ and he put his head into the string and was tied fast to a big tree that was one hundred and sixty-seven feet round. Then the big man laughed a perfectly dreadful laugh; and he said, when he had finished, ‘Now you are going to the Circus, sir, and see the pennies taken in at the door.’ Then he went off up to his mountain-spur again.

“And presently he looked down his side of the mountain again, and he spied a gre-at big snake, oh, a beautiful one! all green and gold stripes, and great flashing green eyes to match; for the big man watched Mr. Snake raise his head as he wriggled along, and he ran down his side of the mountain on his dreadfully large feet as quick as a flash, and stood in front of Mr. Snake, who looked this way and that for a chance to escape. But there was none, you see, for the dreadfully large feet of the big man took up all the room; so at last Mr. Snake said in a tired-out voice, just like this: ‘If you please, sir, would you move just a very little?’

“‘Put your head in here, sir,’ roared the big man at him, so that the snake shook and shook just like a leaf on one of our maple-trees in a storm. Well, and at last he had his head with the flashing green eyes, fast in a big bag, which you must know in a twinkling the big man had pulled out of his other side pocket, and then he was left to go flopping and flopping around on the ground most dismally. And then the big man scrambled up to his mountain-side again.

“Well,” said Polly with a long breath, “the next thing he saw was a gi-raffe, as much bigger than the others as you can imagine. And he got him fast, too, so he couldn’t get away; and then he went up to spy out more animals. And by the time the sun went down behind the mountain, and he couldn’t catch any more, he had two hundred creatures all tied fast to trees, or with their heads in bags. And then he sat down on a big stone to rest.”

“I should think he’d have to,” said Ben under his breath.

Polly shot him a reproving glance, and hurried on. “Well, after he was all rested nicely again, he jumped up from his stone, and looked them all in the face, that is, he looked those who were tied to trees in the face, but those with their heads in bags, of course he couldn’t, and he said, ‘My friends,’ for he thought he ought to treat them kindly, they’d been so good to him, ‘I’m going to take you to see the world a little.’ Then he untied those who were tied to the trees, and set them in a line, the hippo in front, because he had him the longest, so it was right to give him the first place, and the creatures with their heads in the bags he set in the middle, because they didn’t need to see, but could just follow the noise of the animals stepping in front of them, and then a long line of more animals. Then the big man cut down one of the large trees and switched it at the heels of the last animal, which was a rhododendron.”

“O Polly!” gasped Ben.

“Yes ’twas,” she declared positively, with red cheeks, “I’m quite sure of that word, for I saw it in the book Parson Higginson lent us; so there! Ben Pepper.”

“Well, never mind,” said Ben faintly; “go on with the story, Polly.” So Polly made her rhododendron move as swiftly as all the others in the line; and presently the whole procession, with the big man at its rear switching the heels of the last animal, was at the top of the mountain; and then he called in a loud voice, “Come, Mr. Circus-man, and get your menaj-menaj-arie.” Polly got over this very well, and hurried on glibly. “And all the people who had opened their barn-doors and houses, thinking there was to be no storm, clapped them to again in a fright. All except one man, and they screamed to him that he was risking his life; but he didn’t care, and he wouldn’t pay any attention to them. So he poked his head out of his doorway, and he screamed, ‘I’m going up the mountain to see for myself if there’s going to be a storm.’ And they all bade him good-bye, and said they were sure they should never see him again; and then they locked their doors, and padlocked them, and away he ran up the mountain.

“The big man was waiting for him; and he said to his animals, ‘Now, my friends, when that man’s head begins to show over that scrub-oak there,’ pointing to the tree, ‘do you all say, “How do you do, and how do you do, and how do you do again.”’ So the animals said they would; and as soon as the man’s head was to be seen peeping over the tree-top, as he ran pretty fast, they all said it. The Hippo roared it, and Mr. Snake grumbled it clear down half his length, and the rhi-rhino-cerus squealed it, and the elephant howled it, and the”—

“What did the rhododendron do?” asked Ben.

“And the guinea-pig—oh, I forgot to tell you there was a perfectly splendid guinea-pig in the collection,” said Polly, not taking any notice of Ben; “and he said it big and loud in his natural voice, and the monkey shrieked it, and”—

“Oh! is there a dear sweet little monkey?” cried Phronsie in a transport. “O Polly! I want him to play with, I do.”

“Oh, no, Phronsie, you can’t,” said Polly hurrying on; “the Circus-man has to have him, you know. Well, and oh, dear me! every single one of those animals said, ‘How do you do, and how do you do, and how do you do again.’ And the man took one look at them and he said, ‘Pretty well, I thank you.’

“And the big man said, ‘You’re the man for me; and I give all these animals to you, for you are the only one who isn’t afraid. Now, march, and good-by.’ And the Circus-man rubbed his eyes and looked again, and there wasn’t any big man; all that was left was the long line of animals and crawling things. So down the mountain-side the procession went. And at the foot there were sixteen red carts with yellow borders, and a cunning little carriage drawn by ever and ever so many dear sweet ponies no bigger than dogs, and then in a minute, out from behind the trees, came rushing as many as a dozen, no, two dozen big horses with long tails. And they swept up to the Circus-man to have him scratch their noses.”

The Five Little Peppers now became dreadfully excited. And Joel jumped up. “Whoop-la!” he screamed, as he pranced around and around the group on the floor, stepping high, and slapping himself as he raced along. “Come on, Dave; this is the way I’d make ’em go, all those horses.”

“Polly, do you suppose we’ll ever see a Circus?” cried little Davie with shining eyes; “ever in all this world?”

“Ever in all this world?” hummed Phronsie, while Ben set his teeth tight together and looked at her. “Yes, indeed,” declared Polly confidently, with eyes only for Ben. “Don’t look so, Ben,” she cried; “we’ll see one sometime.”

“Polly always gets her flowers,” said little Davie in a moment, in a reflective way.

“And if we don’t ever get to see a really, truly Circus,” cried Polly impulsively, “we can hear all about it same’s we have already from Mr. and Mrs. Beebe. So just think what those children must have to do, who don’t ever have anybody to tell them about it as we have.” She folded her hands in her lap and was lost in thought.

“Whoop-la! Whoopity-la! G’lang!” cried Joel with an awful noise, making his steeds put forth all their best paces, around the little old kitchen. “And I’m so glad,” Polly was saying, “that Mr. and Mrs. Beebe did see a Circus when they went down to Rockport; it’s the greatest comfort. Now, if you don’t stop, Joel, I can’t tell the rest of the story;” “and you make so much noise we can’t hear anything,” said Ben.

So Joel gave up slapping his imaginary beasts, and bounded into the middle of the group again, and the little old kitchen quieting down, Polly took up the story once more.

“Well, but you ought to have seen the big white tent that was really the home of all the animals and crawling things, when they actually got home and staid still,” exclaimed Polly, starting off. “Oh! it was quite magnificent, I can tell you. It was as big as the church-green, and it had a great flag on top that swung out in the breeze at every bit of wind, and there were rows and rows of seats all around it in a ring, and down in the middle was the place where the horses danced, and”—

“Like this?” whooped Joel, breaking away again from the bunch of Five Little Peppers on the floor. But Ben picked him by the jacket sleeve and made him sit down suddenly. “Hold on, there,” he said; “you keep still, Joe, you’re worse than a tornado. Go on, Polly, I’ll hold him,” as Polly laughed and hurried on.

“One day they were having a beautiful time; the band that always rode in the red wagon with the yellow wheels, was playing away, oh, such lovely music!” sighed Polly; “and the big tent was just crammed full of people, and the horses were dancing, and everybody was just as happy as could be, when a great big man, oh, his head was almost up to the top of the tent when he stood up straight, came up to the door and stooped down and peeked in.

“‘Go right away!’ screamed the door-man at him as cross as he could be.

“‘Where’s the Circus-man?’ asked the great big man, and he kept peeking in. ‘I sha’n’t go till I’ve seen the Circus-man.’

“So somebody had to run and get the Circus-man; and they made him stop, although he was just in the midst of showing off the monkey who was having a waltz on the back of the biggest elephant; and he was pretty cross, and he marched up to the great big man, and he pretended not to know him; and he said very sharply, ‘Go right off; you’re making a perfectly dreadful noise, and you haven’t paid, and you can’t go in.’

“‘Don’t you know me, Mr. Circus-man?’ cried the great big man; and he stood up quite straight, and his eyes, that stuck out like two cannon balls, stared at him.

“‘Go right away!’ said the Circus-man angrily. ‘I never saw you before in all my life; or I’ll set the dogs on you,’ and he snapped his whip.

“‘Oh, I’ll go,’ said the great big man. ‘Good-by, Mr. Circus-man; the next time you come up to my mountain you needn’t stop to see me. Come every single one of you beasts and beastesses, and reptiles and reptilesses, and animals; it’s time to go home,’ he roared. And everybody inside the big tent screamed that it thundered, and that they’d all be killed, and the elephant knocked the monkey off from his back, and the big snake slipped out, and the rhinoceros jumped over the heads of the children who were giving him peanuts, and the hippo ran, and”—

“And the rhododendron,” said Ben—“what did he do? Don’t forget him, Polly.”

“And the gi-raffe,” said Polly, with a cold shoulder for Ben, “and all of them, they just ran and jumped and skipped and hopped and wriggled out of that tent, and the great big man was going off on his perfectly dreadfully large feet, till he was miles away in a few minutes; and off they all hurried, every single one of them, after him; and although the Circus-man chased and chased and chased after them, he never could catch them. And that’s all,” said Polly, leaning back quite exhausted.

“Well, well!” exclaimed Mother Pepper, coming in suddenly upon the absorbed little group; “now, that looks comfortable,” and her face lighted up and she beamed at Polly.

“O Mamsie!” screamed every one of the bunch, as they sprang to their feet and surrounded her.

“There was a sweet dear little monkey,” cried Phronsie stumbling up, dreadfully excited “and a gre-at big man. Take me, Mamsie,” and she snuggled up to Mother Pepper’s wet gown.

“Take care, child,” cried Mrs. Pepper, hungry to get her baby to her heart; “mother’s all wet. There, there, Polly, Mr. Atkins let me take the umbrella, so I did very well; I’ve set it in the Provision Room; that’s a good girl,” as Polly took off the big shawl and hung it up to dry.

“Now, Ben and you boys run and put some more wood in the stove, do,” cried Polly; “oh, I do so wish you had some tea, Mamsie!” and her face clouded over, and the corners of her mouth drooped.

“It’s better than tea, to see all you children,” cried Mamsie brightly. But nobody dared ask her if she had any coats and sacks to sew; for there wasn’t any big bundle, and Polly sighed and looked at Ben.