"One! two! right! left! one! two! Number Three, you are not in line. Forward a little! That's it. Now then—one! two! right! left!"

It was early morning of a midsummer day, and a dozen or more boys, between the ages of ten and fifteen, marched out of the market town of Morainville, some armed with wooden swords, and others with broom-handles which did service as rifles, while the most of them were eating big slices of bread with keen relish.

"One! two! right! left!"

The time of the annual fÊte, when the soldiers would come, was drawing near, and for several days the youngsters of the place had been preparing to receive them in fitting manner.

All their usual forms of play had for the nonce been abandoned in favor of drilling, and grave councils of war, and much attention was given to the making of wooden swords and guns wherewith to more closely imitate the soldiers.

Then came the important matter of choosing the officers, which, however, were always the same, because the smaller boys never failed to vote for the bigger ones, knowing well that if they didn't they would assuredly get a licking.

A couple of boys in the party had a special talent for imitating the trumpet by placing their shut hand over their closed lips, and these led the little troop.

By eight o'clock the children had marched over a mile, and reached the top of a hill planted with spruce trees on both sides of the road which slanted sharply in front and rear of their route.

The captain of the company ordered a halt, and as their young legs were pretty tired, it was decided that they should there await the arrival of the soldiers.

A sentinel was placed on the road to report the appearance of the regiment in good time to allow the boys to get ready for its reception.

Half-an-hour later, as the little soldiers of the wooden swords waited beneath the spruce trees, the sentinel from his post of observation gave the signal.

"Hurrah! there they are!" cried the boys delightedly, and they made haste to draw up in line along the road.

But it was not the regiment that came in view. No red trousers showed upon the horizon. Nothing save a big lumbering wagon, a mountebank's van drawn by a single horse, made its appearance, moving in the direction of the town.

Yet the sight of this solitary van would not of itself have sufficed to attract the curiosity of the children. Strolling performers! why, they were nothing uncommon. They visited the town often in the course of the year, and one poor shabby van could never have constituted a counter-attraction to the most insignificant soldier in his red trousers.

Nevertheless the youngsters stood there upon the road like statues, and, after their first exclamation of surprise, they were silent also, while their eyes fairly bulged from their sockets as they gazed open-mouthed upon that which was coming towards them.

Beside the van moved the huge bulk of something unknown that stalked solemnly along, looking neither to right nor left.

What could it be? So tremendous a creature had never crossed their vision before.

"Can it be a beast?" whispered one of the boys with trembling lips.

"Why—yes—" responded the captain, making a gallant effort to appear unconcerned, although he was greatly excited, "a beast that can walk."

It was, indeed, bewildering. A monster beside which the horse that drew the van seemed no bigger than a dog—a monster whose height exceeded that of the mountebank's house on wheels.

Then to one of the boys came an inspiration, and he cried proudly:

"I know what it is. I saw the picture of one in a book my father was showing me. It's an elephant!"

"What a whopper! an elephant's not a great brute like that. You don't know what you're talking about," snapped the captain, ill-pleased at a private having ventured an explanation of the wonder.

This silenced the youngster, and as none of the others could offer any better suggestion the little company, feeling decidedly nervous, made haste to climb the trees that lined the road just as the mountebanks and their elephant reached the top of the hill. Like a band of frightened monkeys they got among the branches uttering cries of fear, and then, with the effrontery of monkeys, took their positions as close as possible to the road so that they might obtain a full view of the strolling performers, and of the wonderful animal that sauntered so peacefully along beside their conveyance.

"You needn't be afraid," called out one of the mountebanks reassuringly. He was only a boy himself, and his keen eyes had taken in the situation at a glance. "There's no harm in Nalla. He wouldn't hurt anybody unless they hurt him first."

And as he spoke the lad stroked lovingly the trunk of the great creature that responded to the caress with little grunts of satisfaction.

At this assurance all the boys descended from their refuge in the trees, and in a gingerly hesitating fashion, for they were still a little nervous, drew near the boy who was so manifestly in the good graces of the monster.

What puzzled the boys was that they saw no sign of either the father or mother of the little players, of whom there were four, two boys and two girls.

On the front platform of the van sat a girl of not more than sixteen, holding in her lap another of about five years of age.

"Come now—Steady—hurry up!" cried the latter to the horse.

"Oh! let him alone! he's going as fast as he can, Lydia," said the elder one. "It's no use shouting at him."

But Steady did not mend his pace. He well deserved his name, for indeed a slower animal never wore harness.

Behind the van came another youngster, not more than ten years old, followed by a black dog clipped so as to faintly resemble a lion. The boy and dog were evidently on the best of terms, and the one no less full of life than the other.

It goes without saying that the whole party of boys, who had come out to receive the soldiers, completely forgot them in the novelty of this strange party, and constituted themselves a guard of honor for Nalla and his friends without giving another thought to the red trousers which had been the original cause of their early morning march-out.

At the entrance of the town was a sort of open square formed by the joining of two roads, and it was there that the owners of the van, the Tamby family, had taken their stand when the expected soldiers, with fife and drums leading, at last marched into Morainville.

As they watched them pass, looking very imposing indeed in all their martial splendor, little CÆsar Tamby said to Nadine his sister:

"The soldiers! We have got here in the nick of time. We ought to take in a lot of money to-night."

But Nadine, whose pretty features wore a sad expression, shook her head doubtfully:

"Who can tell?" she murmured. "Perhaps the Mayor won't allow us to give a performance."

She was going to find out, and she took with her the necessary papers to make a formal request for the authorization.

Nadine, the eldest of the Tamby family, who undertook the always tiresome, and often troublesome task of securing the necessary permission for the little troupe to make a stay within the bounds of a commune, and give public performances, set off with no loss of time.

She quickly made her way to the center of the town where the Mayor's office was situated, but there encountered a lot of soldiers receiving directions from their officers in regard to their stay at Morainville. It was accordingly with some difficulty that she was able to reach the office of the Mayor, which was crowded with officers who were engaging his attention.

His worship was informed that a mountebank wished to see him about obtaining permission to make a stay in the town.

"I've no time to waste upon such folk, and, moreover, I won't give the permission because the soldiers are here," was his ungracious reply as conveyed to the anxious Nadine by the constable, who, noting her disappointment, added in a kinder tone on his own account:

"My young girl, the Mayor won't see you, and as he has given his answer to your request you may take my word for it that it's useless for you to wait about here. You'd better push on to some other town where you'll have a chance to give a performance."

"But, sir," pleaded Nadine, her lip trembling, and her fine eyes filling with tears, "if we don't perform this evening we shall have nothing to eat to-morrow. We might get along somehow ourselves, but our animals, they must be fed."

The constable was touched by her plea, and the charm of her simple manner.

"Very well, then," he responded, laying his big hand upon her shoulder in a fatherly way. "You'll have to try and see the Mayor at his own house," and the kind-hearted fellow gave Nadine directions how to find it, and what to do when she got there.

The Mayor's residence was quite a castle, and Nadine felt very timid about venturing to enter it, but she found the great portal open, and glided through without being observed by any one in the establishment, the fact of the matter being that on this day everybody had their hands too full to concern themselves about who might be going or coming.

The staff of domestics seemed to be exceedingly busy. Several women in snow-white dresses were hard at work before the cooking range, one of them giving orders in a sharp voice, and the others replying promptly:

"Yes, Madame FranÇoise," and carrying out her instructions.

A moment later Madame FranÇoise caught sight of Nadine who stood shyly in the doorway, not daring to enter a place where everybody was so engrossed with their work.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" she demanded in a tone of irritation as she fixed her eyes on the young girl, and examined her from her head to her feet. "Where did you come from?" she snapped.

"Madame," replied Nadine in a low-toned voice, letting her head drop upon her breast. "I came to see the Mayor, and to beg——"

"No—no—we've no time for beggars to-day," cried Madame impatiently, "and the Mayor won't be able to see you. Be off with you as quick as you can!"

Nadine turned to leave with heavy heart when a door on the other side of the kitchen opened suddenly, and a lady of middle age, in a rich silk gown, entered the room. She was tall and handsome, and her expression was so sweet and pleasant that somehow Nadine's hopes began to revive.

"Was it you, FranÇoise, who spoke so sharply to the child?" she asked in a tone that expressed both surprise and reproof.

"Well, Madame," replied the servant, "you see this is one of those little beggars, a mountebank's daughter, who pay a visit to the town just for what they can steal. She came here begging and I told her that you had no time to attend to her."

The color flew to Nadine's face, and her eyes flashed with indignation at these words which were no less unjust than they were cruel.

She lifted her pretty head with a touch of pride, and her voice rang out clearly as she hastened to say:

"But I didn't come here begging, Madame. I've never had to do anything of the kind yet, thank God. I simply came to ask permission of the Mayor to make my living in an honest way. That's what I'm here for, I assure you," and she made a respectful courtesy to the lady.

"But why didn't your father come instead, my child?" asked the lady, regarding her with a look of kindly interest. "You are very young to be attending to such matters."

"Alas, I have no longer a father," responded Nadine, her head drooping again, and the big tears welling up in her blue eyes.

"Well, then, your mother—Why does not she come?" was the next question.

Poor Nadine's voice almost failed her, and her answer was scarcely audible:

"I have no mother either."

"What! neither mother nor father!" exclaimed the lady, throwing up her white hands with a gesture of astonishment and pity. "Do you mean to say that you are all alone at your age?"

Nadine lifted her head again, and a new light came into her fine eyes. They glowed with both love and pride as she said:

"No, Madame, I'm not alone. I have two brothers, and a little sister, but they are all much younger than I, so I have to look after the business."