“Oh, I’d like to do that!” cried Marjorie, as with sparkling eyes she watched a young girl do a swinging specialty.

King laughed.  “You’d like to do lots of these stunts, Midget, but let me advise you if you’re ever a circus performer, don’t try trapeze work; you’re too heavy.  When you came down, you’d go smash through the net!  If you must be in a circus, you’d better stick to your chariot driving.”

“Now the trapeze number is over,” said Kitty, looking at her programme, “and next will be the wild animals!  I do love to see those.”

“And I don’t,” said Marjorie, with a shudder.  It was not exactly fear, but the child had a special aversion to watching the feats of trained wild animals, and had often shut her eyes when such a performance was going on.

The lions and tigers came in and took their places, and Kitty and King watched with interest as they obeyed the trainer’s word, and did as he bade them.

But after a little time, Marjorie felt she could stand it no longer.  “Pomp,” she said, “I can’t bear to look at those animals another minute!  This is the last number, and I’m going out.  I’ll wait for you right by the door, just where we came into the tent.”

Pompton looked at the child, kindly.  Her face was white, and he saw that it really distressed her to watch the wild animals.

“Very well, Miss Marjorie,” he said; “it’s but a few steps, so go on, if you like, and stay just outside the door until we come.  Don’t wander away now.”

“No, Pompton, I won’t wander away, but I must get away from here.”

Marjorie left the box, and went quietly out of the door of the tent.  It was only a few steps, as their box was very near the entrance.

There was a bench just outside the door, and the little girl sat down upon it, delighted to be away from the sights she did not care for.  The fresh air and bright sunshine brought the color back to her cheeks, and she looked around her with interest.  There was little to see, for the audience were all inside the great tent, and the performers were either on the stage or in their own dressing rooms.  A pleasant-faced attendant spoke to her, and asked where her people were.

“They’re inside,” answered Marjorie, “they’re coming out in a few moments, but I didn’t like this act, and I’m going to wait for them here.”

“All right, little one; sit there as long as you like.  I’ll be about here all the time, and if you want anything, you call me.  My name’s Bill.”

“Thank you,” said Marjorie, and Bill went off whistling.  He was a big, burly young man, with a kind voice and manner, and he seemed to be a hard-working circus hand.  He was clearing up the place, and once in a while he glanced at Marjorie, as if to make sure she was all right.

Marjorie sat still on the bench, her thoughts all on the performances she had seen.  She wondered if the circus people were like other people, for they seemed to her to be of a different race.