One morning, towards the end of March, as the day girls were walking home from school, they came across a bill-sticker pasting a flaming red poster upon a hoarding. Naturally they stopped to look. The advertisement was headed:

"Trotman's Circus & Menagerie", and set forth that on Monday next the famous show would visit Durracombe for one day only, and would give two performances, at 3p.m. and 8p.m., introducing the latest novelties and sensational displays. Here was an excitement for the sleepy little town. It was years since any travelling circus had come that way, and very few of the children had seen elephants, performing sea-lions, trick-horses, gymnasts, North American Indian riders, or any of the marvels set down in the programme. Of course all the juvenile population was a-thrill at the prospect. The day girls at The Moorings carried the news to the boarders, and the arrival of the wonderful show at once became the most important date in the school calendar. Trotman's Circus had rather a bad reputation for missing its appointments, and, as it had once before advertised its advent but had failed to turn up, people declared they would not believe in it until they actually saw the procession marching into the town.

"You'll take us if it really comes, won't you?" begged the boarders at The Moorings.

Miss Pollard would not commit herself.

"I must hear something about it first," she said guardedly. "These travelling shows aren't always very select."

"It's a wonderful programme," urged Iva, who had seen the posters.

"That doesn't guarantee it from being extremely vulgar," returned Miss Pollard.

On Sunday afternoon, just as the scholars were pouring out of Sunday-schools, there came the rumble of wheels along the road, and presently down the High Street passed a remarkable procession of gilded caravans, horses, and elephants. The men who led them, and the women who peeped from the little curtained windows, were a tired-looking crew who deserved a Sunday's rest; but directly they had crossed the bridge, and arrived in the meadows at the opposite side of the river, they began to work hard at erecting tents, stabling their horses, and setting their temporary camp in order. Nearly all the children in Durracombe stood on the bridge and watched them. It is not every day you can see elephants or a camel or a troupe of tiny piebald ponies. To most of the small folk it was the opportunity of their lives.

Mavis and Merle, from the vantage-ground of the terraced walk by the river, had a splendid view of the settlement. They were almost too near, indeed, for they were much disturbed during the night by weird noises, the roaring of lions in cages and the trumpeting of elephants. They dressed next morning, feeling as if they had slept in a jungle or in an African forest. They found all the girls at school in a state of flaming excitement. Miss Pollard had not yet decided whether the circus was a sufficiently refined entertainment to justify her in taking her boarders. She was old-fashioned in her notions, and very particular about what was suitable and proper for children. She hesitated and vacillated, and even wrote a note to the vicar to ask for his opinion, and was more embarrassed still when she found he had gone out on his motor-cycle, and might not be back until the evening. She and Miss Fanny had discussed the matter threadbare in private, but could not make up their minds in the least. Meantime a whole school full of fluttering girls centred the circus as the one event of the term.

"Of course we're to have a half-holiday this afternoon," began Opal.

"There's no 'of course' about it," returned Miss Pollard, eyeing her god-daughter gravely. She did not like Opal's tone, which was both uncompromising and truculent.

"Oh, but we've simply got to have a holiday! We can't miss this circus. All of us day girls have been promised at home that we may go, and we shall."

Miss Pollard was long-suffering where her pet pupil was concerned, but it is possible for even a prime favourite to go too far.

"That's not the way to speak to me," she rebuked. "Your parents may make any arrangements they wish for taking you to the evening performance, but you will all attend school this afternoon. Do you thoroughly understand me, girls? I give no half-holiday, and I expect you all to be present here as usual at 2.30. You may take that message home with you."

Miss Pollard, very much on her dignity, glared first at Opal, and then round the entire room. She did not intend to be dictated to or forced to give her consent against her better judgment. She was Principal of The Moorings, and as such meant to maintain discipline over her pupils.

Her announcement caused them all to look very sulky, and produced much grousing during 'break', but nobody thought of disputing it. The day girls consoled themselves by hopes of attending the evening performance. The less fortunate boarders said it was just like their luck. Everybody was more or less in a bad temper, but resigned. Mavis and Merle, walking back from Bridge House about 2.15, passed the corner of the Earnshaws' garden, and saw Opal's face peeping over the paling.

"Hello! Going to school like two good little girls," she jeered.

"Why! Aren't you?"

"I! Rather not! I call it the limit! I say, will you give a message for me to Miss Pollard?" "What do you want us to say?"

"Tell her I've got a fearful headache, and I'm going to lie down."

"We'll do nothing of the sort," snapped Merle.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Mavis.

Opal only grinned.

"What nice good little girls," she repeated mockingly. "You'll give me the trouble of sending a note, that's all."

"What does your mother say?"

"She's gone to Port Sennen to-day, so I can't ask her. Look here, people are saying in the town that there's not going to be any evening performance. Trotmans want to pack up the show and start early, so as to travel at night. They've had a bother with the police about those vans blocking the roads in daytime. They held up a whole row of motors in Blagden, and no one could pass them for half an hour. Do you think I'm going to miss that circus and toddle up to school to write exercises and have a music lesson? Hardly! If you'll take my advice you'll scoot back home and do the same. I shouldn't be surprised to find an epidemic of headaches this afternoon."

"If I stopped away, at least I wouldn't tell fibs about it," said Merle.

Both the Ramsays agreed that it was very unsporting of Miss Pollard to refuse the holiday, and decided to get up a sort of eleventh-hour petition amongst the girls to ask her to grant it. They hurried on to school, therefore, not without hopes, though a little trembling as to how she would receive the appeal. They arrived at The Moorings to find the hive in a delighted ferment. The Vicar, Mr. Carey, had returned home to lunch, and had read Miss Pollard's note, and had sent a reply by his daughters to the effect that in his opinion the circus was a most harmless and innocent form of entertainment, and that it would be a pity for the girls to miss it. He suggested, indeed, that the whole school should visit the show en bloc. The Misses Pollard, being themselves daughters of the late clergyman, set a high value on clerical sanction. The Vicar's letter settled the matter.

"If Mr. Carey approves, it must be perfectly right," fluttered Miss Fanny.

"I'm so glad to know what he thinks about it," agreed her sister.

The poor ladies were really anxious to give their boarders a treat, and as the day girls were already assembled, and time was flying, they decided to adopt the suggestion, and march the whole school in an orderly crocodile to the tent. Just before they started, a small village boy came running up the lane and delivered a note. Miss Pollard tore it open hastily.

"Dear me! How unfortunate," she exclaimed. "Opal ill with a bad headache. The child was perfectly all right this morning. Thank you, there's no answer. Now, girls, take your partners and form into double line. Quietly, quietly! Not so much talking! Iva and Nesta first. Where's Mademoiselle? Has Mamie brought her scarf? Those tents are sometimes very draughty. Betty, if you can't behave you'll be left behind! Are you ready? Then quick march!"

It was very exciting indeed to file along the High Street and across the bridge on to the meadow, and more thrillsome still to enter the big circular tent with its green canvas roof flapping in the breeze. The seats were only wooden planks covered with red baize, and swayed about when people sat upon them, but Durracombe audiences were not accustomed to luxuries, and the juvenile portion would have cheerfully sat anywhere to watch the show. A caravan drawn up by the entrance acted as pay desk, and a big, fat gipsy-looking woman took the money and said, 'Thank you very much' to those who bought the more expensive tickets. The school secured a block of reserved seats all to itself, and the girls settled themselves with little ones in front, and big ones behind. In the middle of the tent was a large circle strewn with sawdust, and the spectators were ranged round this as in a Roman amphitheatre. Through the open door opposite might be caught a glimpse of horses standing outside. A very large part of the audience was composed of children. Most of them had been waiting in a queue for a long while before entering, and they were over-excited and tired. They were all impatience for the performance to begin, and the hum of their little voices sounded like the buzzing of bees. Through the gaps between the walls and the roof of the tent long shafts of sunlight streamed like Jacob's ladders over the heads of the children, and into the sawdust circle. One almost expected elves and fairies to slide down them and perform on the magic ring. One tiny boy, tired of waiting, strayed from his place, and stood a moment under one of these shafts of light like a fair-haired cherub. The spectators cheered him as if he were part of the programme.

The contingent from The Moorings were sitting close to the main entrance, and as their united glances strayed round the tent they presently began to nudge each other and focus their gaze in one particular direction. Miss Pollard, aware of the undercurrent, looked also. What she saw caused her to take out her lorgnettes and stare amazedly through them to satisfy herself that failing eyesight had not produced an illusion. On the other side of the tent, exactly opposite to their party, sitting on a red-baize-covered reserved seat, was Opal—Opal who was supposed to be lying on her bed prostrate with headache, and whom she had pitied for missing the treat. Miss Fanny had also just made the same discovery. The sisters glanced at one another, and drew their own conclusions. If Opal had turned rather white at the entrance of the school party, she had apparently recovered from the shock, and was bluffing the matter out. She was sitting with some friends, girls much older than herself, and was laughing and chatting as if in thorough enjoyment.

And now at last, after much tiresome delay and waiting, the show began. Through the far door was seen a vision of men in gay costumes, and the strains of a band were heard.

"O-o-o-oh!" came from the children all round, as the procession streamed into the tent. It was headed by the band, then followed piebald horses with riders in gorgeous velvet costumes or spangled dresses; there were Roman chariots, and a drove of tiny ponies, and an Eastern lady on a camel, and several funny men who bounced about like india-rubber balls, and three stately elephants, and some wild-looking Red Indians in war-paint and feathers. These all paraded round the ring to allow the audience to have a good view of them, then went off again, so that the programme might proceed in its separate items.

It really was a capital show. There was no mistake about that. First entered the gymnasts, wonderful people who jumped easily on to one another's shoulders, and swung head downwards from trapezes, and made themselves into a human pyramid, and performed other amazing and marvellous feats. Then came the horses, which ambled round the circle in pairs, with riders who stood astride two of them, one foot on each, marvels of equilibrium, and ladies in gauzy dresses who jumped lightly from horse to horse as if on wings. When these had cantered off the scenes appeared "Queenie", a beautiful Arabian trick horse with her playfellow "Pixie", a tiny piebald pony. The manager, a gorgeous individual in evening dress, stood in the centre cracking a whip, while Queenie and Pixie ran in contrary circles, reared, knelt, and lay down to music, and finally did a dying scene together, with Pixie's head resting sentimentally on Queenie's back.

"I want that 'ickle pony," called out a small voice from the audience, at which remark even the manager smiled.

Then it was the turn of the clown, a funny man in baggy white pants and a red patch on each of his cheeks. He kicked up six hats in succession, and caught them all, one on the top of the other, on his head in a pyramid, and had a comical fight with somebody who was dressed up as a lion and tried to pounce upon him.

"Here we are again. No harm done this time," he kept saying, after somersaults and jumps that made some of the audience tremble for his safety.

Next a tight-rope was fixed, and two lady gymnasts in spangled garments and holding parasols walked across it, and even danced upon it, shaking bells on their ankles as they moved. The funny man pretended to be envious and begged to be allowed to try; so he climbed up too and at first made the tight-rope wobble in the most alarming fashion, but finally performed a jig upon it, holding aloft a big black umbrella.

"No harm done this time," he proclaimed laughingly.

An Eastern lady, who arrived veiled on a camel, did a marvellous turn with Queenie, the trick horse. Slow music was played, and when the lady danced Queenie moved her fore-feet as if dancing also. Then the lady skipped, and the horse also skipped over a rope held by the manager and the clown, a performance which called forth cheer after cheer from the spectators. When Queenie ran out of the ring two elephants took her place. They saluted by trumpeting, a form of greeting which rather scared most of the children, and even brought squeals from some of them. The elephants with their slow heavy gait were favourites, however, and quite captured the house when one of them acted nurse to a rag baby, placed it inside a cradle, and rocked it gently to sleep.

The Red Indians, with their wild, spirited horses, performed most daring feats, careered round the ring clinging to the tails of their steeds, jumped from one horse to another when in full gallop, and had a most exciting battle in which a little girl was bound to a stake by one party and rescued by another. Then one of the elephants came in again, and played skittles with the clown, who kept calling out "Cheat fair, old girl," though he always let her win in the end, and rewarded her by drinks from a bottle which he produced out of his big hat. The funny man was indeed the very heart and soul of the circus and worked hard to keep the audience amused. When the elephant had finished her tricks he brought in a pair of seals who flapped into the ring on their fins, roaring and snorting as they came. Their feats were, if anything, even more clever than those of the elephants: they balanced cups on their noses, played football with the clown, and flapped their fins or roared in answer to his questions. They played a game of hide-and-seek, and finally posed on either side of their human friend apparently whispering into his ear.

A Roman chariot race followed, as a variety, and afterwards some trick riding by ladies accompanied by a jazz band to which the elephant played the drum. It was all clever and amusing, yet everybody smiled when the funny man, after a short interval for rest, made his reappearance in the circle. He seemed indefatigable, and his limbs might have been made of india-rubber by the way he jumped and bounced and pranced about. This time he was to give a performance on the trapeze, and he ran up the ladder as easily as a monkey, cracking out many jokes. He swung on the trapeze, and turned somersaults, and hung by his heels and did other hair-raising experiments, always ending with his usual "no harm done this time".

Then he commenced to swing himself backwards and forwards for an enormous leap on to another trapeze. He accomplished it safely, and turned to make the bound back again. But either the rope was faulty, or for once his nerve deserted him, or he miscalculated his distance, for, instead of landing lightly upon the pole, he missed it, and fell down, down on to the edge of the net, and off again on to the ground below.

For an instant the audience thought it was part of the performance, and that he would bounce up with one of his merry jokes. But this time there was harm done. Instead of springing to his feet he lay limp and quiet among the sawdust in the ring. There was a buzz of horror from the spectators as two of the gymnasts ran in with a stretcher and hastily removed him. Many could not bear to look at any more and left the tent, though the manager made a short speech and begged people to remain for the rest of the programme, bringing on the ponies, and causing them to run and jump round the circle.

Miss Pollard and her girls felt they had seen enough, and withdrew quietly, very much upset at the horrible accident. Mavis and Merle, running home with the news, found Dr. Tremayne just starting for the cottage hospital, whither the unfortunate clown had been carried from the circus. Jessop was helping to hunt out splints, bandages, &c., and hastily packing them into the car.

"Here's a pretty business," said Uncle David. "I hear the poor chap's badly hurt. I've an urgent call to Bragdon—man in an epileptic fit—but he'll have to wait till I've attended to this case first. It's a mercy I hadn't started. Jessop, where's the chloroform bottle? Put it here in my bag, please! If I want anything else I'll send someone over with a message. You know where the other splints are? Good! Telephone to Mrs. Goodwin that I can't possibly see her till to-morrow, but she must go on taking the medicine, and if Johnson's boy comes with a message, keep him till I get back."

And Dr. Tremayne, having collected all the various things he considered he was likely to need, jumped into his car, and departed to the cottage hospital on his errand of help, a very real angel of mercy though clad in twentieth-century garments.

"Will the poor fellow die?" the girls asked with awestruck faces.

Jessop shook her head enigmatically.

"It depends how much damage is done. You never can tell in a case like this till the Doctor has seen him. You may be sure your uncle will do the best that human skill can."

"That goes without saying," said Mavis as she and Merle went gravely upstairs to wash their hands for tea.