CHAPTER XI.
HE GOES TO THE CIRCUS.
In vain I struggled to regain the peace of mind I was beginning to enjoy before I met Flora Knickerbocker.

I could not forget her; I dared not approach her--for I had heard a rumor that her dog had died a _barb_-arous death, and his young mistress was inconsolable.

I spent the long, lazy summer days in dreaming of her, and wishing that bashfulness were a curable disease.
One morning, very early, when "The window slowly grew a glimmering square," I heard an unwonted commotion on our quiet road, and slipping out of bed, I went to the window to see "what was up." It was a circus company, with a menagerie attachment, winding through the dim dawn, elephant and all.
For a moment my heart beat, as in its childish days, at sight of the unique cavalcade; but it soon grew sad, and ached worse than ever at the reflection that Miss Flora was a city girl, and would despise a circus.

However, some time during the day I heard from aunt that _all_ of Widow Cooper's boarders had made up their minds to attend, that evening, the performance, which was to take place in a small town two miles from us.

These fine city folks doubtless thought it would be an innocent "lark" to go to the circus in this obscure country village.
I had outgrown my childish taste for the hyena, the gnu, and the anaconda; I was indifferent to the india-rubber man; nor did I care much for the beautiful bare-back rider who was to flash through the hoops like a meteor through the orbits of the planets; but I did long to steal one more look, unseen, unsuspected, at the sweet face which was lovelier to me, even in its anger, than any other.