Harkless gathered up the reins.
"You'll make a great Hoosier, all right," said the old man, beaming upon the girl.

"You needn't worry about that, I guess, my dear." When he said "my dear," Harkless spoke to the horses.
"Wait," said the judge, still holding the girl's hand.

"You'll make a great Hoosier, some day; don't fret.

You're already a very beautiful one." Then he bent his white head and kissed her, gallantly.

John said: "Good afternoon, judge"; the whip cracked like a pistol-shot, and the buckboard dashed off in a cloud of dust.
"Every once in a while, Harkless," the old fellow called after them, "you must remember to look at the team." The enormous white tent was filled with a hazy yellow light, the warm, dusty, mellow light that thrills the rejoicing heart because it is found nowhere in the world except in the tents of a circus--the canvas-filtered sunshine and sawdust atmosphere of show day.