Polly of the Circus Part 19

"Was it?"

"I guess it was," she said, after a long time.

"I knowed it," he cried. "I was a fool to a-brung you back. Yer don't belong with us no more."

"Oh, don't, Jim! don't! Don't make me feel I'm in the way here, too!"

"Here, too?" He looked at her in astonishment. "Yer wasn't in HIS way, was yer, Poll?"

"Yes, Jim." She saw his look of unbelief and continued hurriedly. "Oh, I tried not to be. I tried so hard. He used to read me verses out of a Bible about my way being his way and my people his people, but it isn't so, Jim. Your way is the way you are born, and your people are the people you are born with, and you can't change it, Jim, no matter how hard you try."

"YOU was changin' it," he answered, savagely. "You was gettin' jes'

like them people. It was me what took yer away and spoiled it all. You oughtn't to a come. What made yer, after yer said yer wouldn't?"

She did not answer. Strange things were going through the mind of the slow-witted Jim. He braced himself for a difficult question.

"Will yer answer me somethin' straight?" he asked.

"Why, of course," she said as she met his gaze.

"Do you love the parson, Poll?"

She started.

"Is that it?"

Her lids fluttered and closed, she caught her breath quickly, her lips apart, then looked far into the distance.

"Yes, Jim, I'm afraid--that's it." The little figure drooped, and she stood before him with lowered eyes, unarmed. Jim looked at her helplessly, then shook his big, stupid head.

"Ain't that h.e.l.l?"

It seemed such a short time to Jim since he had picked her up, a cooing babe, at her dead mother's side. He watched the tender, averted face.

Things had turned out so differently from what he had planned.

"And he didn't care about you--like that?" he asked, after a pause.

"No, not in that way." She was anxious to defend the pastor from even the thought of such a thing. "He was good and kind always, but he didn't care THAT WAY. He's not like that."

"I guess I'll have a talk with him," said Jim, and he turned to go.

"Talk!" she cried.

He stopped and looked at her in astonishment. It was the first time that he had ever heard that sharp note in her voice. Her tiny figure was stiffened with decision. Her eyes were blazing.

"If you ever DARE to speak to him--about me, you'll never see me again."

Jim was perplexed.

"I mean it, Jim. I've made my choice, and I've come back to you. If you ever try to fix up things between him and me, I'll run away--really and truly away--and you'll never, never get me back."

He shuffled awkwardly to her side and reached apologetically for the little, clenched fist. He held it in his big, rough hand, toying nervously with the tiny fingers.

"I wouldn't do nothin' that you wasn't a-wantin', Poll. I was just a tryin' to help yer, only I--I never seem to know how."

She turned to him with tear-dimmed eyes, and rested her hands on his great, broad shoulders, and he saw the place where he dwelt in her heart.

Chapter XIV

THE "Leap of Death" implements were being carried from the ring, and Jim turned away to superintend their loading.

Performers again rushed by each other on their way to and from the main tent.

Polly stood in the centre of the lot, frowning and anxious. The mere mention of the pastor's name had made it seem impossible for her to ride to-night. For hours she had been whipping herself up to the point of doing it, and now her courage failed her. She followed Barker as he came from the ring.

"Mr. Barker, please!"

He turned upon her sharply.

"Well, what is it NOW?"

"I want to ask you to let me off again to-night." She spoke in a short, jerky, desperate way.

"What?" he shrieked. "Not go into the ring, with all them people inside what's paid their money a-cause they knowed yer?"

"That's it," she cried. "I can't! I can't!"

"YER gettin' too tony!" Barker sneered. "That's the trouble with you.

You ain't been good for nothin' since you was at that parson's house.

Yer didn't stay there, and yer no use here. First thing yer know yer'll be out all 'round."

"Out?"

"Sure. Yer don't think I'm goin' ter head my bill with a 'dead one,' do you?"

"I am not a 'dead one,'" she answered, excitedly. "I'm the best rider you've had since mother died. You've said so yourself."

"That was afore yer got in with them church cranks. You talk about yer mother! Why, she'd be ashamed ter own yer."

"She wouldn't," cried Polly. Her eyes were flas.h.i.+ng, her face was scarlet. The pride of hundreds of years of ancestry was quivering with indignation. "I can ride as well as I EVER could, and I'll do it, too.

I'll do it to-morrow."

"To-morrow?" echoed Barker. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that I CAN'T go into that ring TO-NIGHT," she declared, "and I won't."