NOW, as might be expected, not a Brownie Scout was late at the Wednesday afternoon meeting, for all were eager to plan a means of earning camp expense money.

When Miss Gordon arrived at Eileen Webber’s home where the Brownies had gathered, she brought with her a fat stack of printed tickets. Rosemary noticed them at once.

“Oh, are we to sell tickets to a show?” she asked quickly.

“A circus, not a show,” corrected Miss Gordon. “That is, if the troop is interested.”

“Oh, we are,” insisted Connie. “Circus tickets should be easy to sell.”

Miss Gordon explained that the idea had occurred to her on the day of the Brownie hike when she had noticed the circus posters. “I talked to the circus advance man,” she added, “and the management has agreed to pay us forty cents for each ticket we sell.”

“That’s four dollars profit for every ten tickets,” declared Connie, calculating rapidly.

“Also, for every eight sold, we are to receive a free one to the circus.”

“I say let’s do it!” cried Jane enthusiastically. “I’m sure I can sell at least ten myself.”

Miss Gordon passed out the tickets, writing down how many each girl took. “Just one thing,” she warned the Brownies. “Although we very much desire to earn money, we must not do so at the expense of dignity.”

Seeing the puzzled expression on the girls’ faces, she further explained: “I mean, in selling our circus tickets, we must not accost strangers. However, we may sell to friends, acquaintances, relatives and parents.”

“I know my parents will buy,” declared Eileen. “And my Aunt Sue.”

“I’ll ask the ladies at my mother’s bridge club,” added Sunny.

Nearly all of the Brownies were confident they could dispose of their tickets before the next meeting. Veve alone seemed uncertain. In her family there were few relatives, and she knew her mother could not take time from work to attend a circus.

“Between now and the next meeting try to think of other ways of earning money,” the troop leader urged. “Our ticket sale may not raise enough.”

The next few days the Brownies were very busy. They swarmed here, there, everywhere, selling their tickets.

By the end of the second day, Connie, Jane, and Rosemary had disposed of a total of twenty-two and had six “promised.” Eileen sold seven, Belinda five, Sunny four, and Veve only one.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sell any more either,” she told Connie one afternoon as she sat in the Williams’ yard where her friend was digging dandelions. “Everyone already has been asked by someone else.”

“How are you going to earn your camp money, Veve?”

“Maybe I won’t go.”

“Oh, Veve! If you want to help me dig dandelions—”

“I don’t,” said Veve quickly, noticing a blister on Connie’s finger. “It makes your hand sore. Can’t you think of an easier way to make money?”

“I’ve earned two dollars already,” Connie said, tossing another dandelion into the basket. “I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“Say, I know a way to make money!” Veve broke in suddenly.

“Then why not try it?” Connie demanded a trifle crossly. Tired and discouraged from having dug so many weeds, she felt that her friend at least might make an effort.

“Oh, I couldn’t do it alone. But together we could work it out and it would be fun. Let’s have a circus of our own!”

“A circus?” Connie echoed, faintly interested. “And charge money?”

“Of course. We’d make a lot.”

“Where could we give the circus, Veve?”

“Here in your back yard! The walk that circles the lily pond would make a dandy circus ring. We’ll ask the other Brownies to be in our show too!”

“We might give it tomorrow,” Connie said doubtfully. “It will mean a lot of planning though, and hard work.”

“Lets get busy right away and practice,” Veve proposed, jumping up from the grass. “What can you do, Connie?”

“Well, I learned a tap dance at class—”

“Oh, they don’t dance in a circus,” Veve replied in a superior tone. “One has to be a bareback rider, a trapeze performer or something important. I’ll be a lion tamer.”

“But you have no lion,” said Connie, rather amused.

“Not a real one,” agreed Veve. “But I know where I can get a play lion.”

“Where, Veve?”

“At Mrs. Moseley’s house. I’ll ask to borrow her Maltese cat.”

“Oh, you mean old Lazy Tom,” laughed Connie. “He’s so old and feeble he’ll not seem much like a real lion.”

“That won’t matter,” insisted Veve, pulling her to her feet. “I’ve seen old lions at circuses. Come on, Connie. Let’s ask to borrow him.”

The two Brownies hurried down the street to Mrs. Moseley’s house. The elderly lady lived alone. Of all the neighborhood children, Connie and Veve were her favorites.

“Good afternoon, girls,” she said with a smile when Veve rang the doorbell. “I am afraid my cookie jar is empty today.”

The girls explained that they had not come for cookies.

“We want to borrow Lazy Tom,” Veve explained. “We need a lion for our Brownie circus.”

“A lion!” repeated Mrs. Moseley, surprised by such a strange request.

Connie and Veve explained their plan for giving a play circus as a means of raising camp expense money.

“Oh, I see,” replied Mrs. Moseley. “Well, perhaps a little wild animal life will do Tom good. Take him along.”

The girls thanked the lady and Veve promptly gathered up the big cat in her arms. Lazy Tom disliked being disturbed because he had been enjoying a snooze on the window sill in the warm sun.

When the girls reached the Williams’ yard again, they dropped the cat on the grass. Veve then ran to the garage for a large wooden bucket which Mr. Williams used when he washed the car. Turned upside down it made a fine pedestal.

“Now get up there, old lion!” she ordered the dozing cat. “Up, I tell you!” Lazy Tom paid no attention. He merely said “Meow!” in a very bored voice.

“Don’t you roar at me!” cried Veve. “I’m your trainer. Now do exactly as I say. Climb up there!”

Lazy Tom rubbed himself against the bucket, his long fluffy tail waving back and forth.

“Why not pick him up and set him on the pail?” suggested Connie. She thought Veve was wasting valuable time.

“Trainers never do that,” replied the little girl. “An old lion would just bite off your hand.”

“But Lazy Tom is no lion,” giggled Connie.

Before Veve could tell her not to, she picked up the cat and placed him on the bucket. Lazy Tom was so comfortable he curled into a round ball and closed his eyes as if he were asleep.

“Oh, say, he’s no good,” cried Veve in disgust. “He’s too tame. Tell you what, Connie. You be the lion.”

Connie was quite certain she did not care to be a lion. However, her friend coaxed so hard that finally she consented.

“Get down on your hands and knees,” ordered Veve. “When I say, ‘Up King of Beasts,’ you’re to put your front paws—I mean your hands—on the bucket. Then move your head from side to side and roar.”

“But I can’t do that, Veve. Lazy Tom is asleep on the bucket.”

“I’ll chase him off.”

“Then he might run away,” protested Connie. “You know we promised Mrs. Moseley to take good care of him.”

“Well, I can’t be bothered taking him home now,” said Veve. “I know where I can keep him safe.”

Gathering up the drowsy cat, she carried him into her own house. Carefully she laid him on the tufted spread of her bed.

“There Tom,” she said, stroking his fur, “isn’t that better than sleeping on a hard bucket?”

Eager to get on with the circus practice, Veve ran back to the Williams’ yard where Connie awaited her.

“Up King of Beasts!” she shouted. “Up on the pedestal!”

When she touched Connie with a stick, the little girl placed first one hand and then the other on the bucket.

“You’re forgetting to roar, Connie,” Veve reminded her. “Go ahead! You can do it.” The sound Connie made was most unlike a roar. She tried again. This time it was loud enough to bring Mrs. Williams to the kitchen door.

“Connie, are you hurt?” she called, fearful that something serious had happened to her daughter.

Connie explained that she and Veve were only “practicing” circus, pretending to be lion and lion tamer.

“Well, you gave me a bad fright,” said Mrs. Williams. “I do wish you would find a quiet game. Those wild roars are certain to disturb the neighbors.”

“I don’t like being a lion anyway,” Connie declared, as she carried the wooden bucket back to the garage.

Veve was sorry that she couldn’t keep on being an animal trainer. But almost at once she thought of another act even more exciting than taming lions. She would try walking a tightrope!

Gathering up a stout clothes-line, Veve strung it tightly between two trees on either side of the lily pond.

“I’ll pretend the pond is Niagara Falls and walk the tightrope across it,” she announced confidently.

“You may fall in and get wet, Veve.” “Not I,” boasted the little girl. “Why, I’ve walked rail fences dozens of times.”

“A clothes-line isn’t as easy as a fence.”

“Oh, I can do it easily. Only I should have an umbrella to balance myself properly. Tightrope walkers always carry one.”

“I’ll bring one from the house,” Connie offered.

She returned a moment later with a red and green umbrella her father had given her at Christmas time.

“I’ll need something to stand on,” Veve said next.

Running to the garage, she found an orange crate which she placed against a tree trunk under one end of the clothes-line.

“Now I’m ready to start my daring act,” she announced. “Hold my hand until I get balanced, Connie.”

Veve climbed up on the box. She stood a moment with one foot on the rope, the other on the orange crate. Holding the umbrella in her right hand, she swayed back and forth.

“Why are you doing that?” asked Connie, puzzled.

“I have to balance myself. Now if you want to see a real tightrope walker, just watch!”

Veve’s round, freckled face became very serious. Swinging her foot from the box to the rope, she started forward. The clothes-line sagged beneath her weight.

“Be careful!” cried Connie.

Her words ended in a loud shriek, for the little girl had lost her balance. Wildly, the red and green umbrella waved in the air. Then with a great splash, Veve pitched sideways into the lily pond.