“Wish you’d mind these till I see if I can’t make quick sleeping quarters,” Blow said to Andy.

“Yes, sir, I’ll be glad to,” answered Andy willingly, and the clown hurried off in his usual nervous fashion.

Andy was kept keenly awake for the ensuing hour.  It did not seem to be night at all.  The scene about him was one of constant activity.

Andy caught a glimpse of real circus life.  Its details filled him with wonderment, admiration and keen interest.

The scene was one of constantly increasing hustle and bustle.  There was infinite variety and excitement in the occasion.  For all that, there was a system, precision and progress in all that was done that fascinated Andy.

The boy was witnessing the building of a great city in itself within the space of half-a-dozen hours.

The caravan wound in, section by section.  The wagons moved to set places as if doing so automatically, discharged their cumbersome loads, and retired.

First came the baggage train, then the stake and chain wagons, the side shows, paraphernalia, and the menagerie cages.

The circus area proper had been all marked out, the ring graded, sawdust-strewn, and straw scattered to absorb dampness.

The blacksmiths’ wagons, cooks’ caravan and the minor tents all removed to the far rear.  The naphtha torches were set every twenty feet apart to illuminate proceedings.  Workers were hauling on the ground great hogsheads of water.  Near the dining tents half-a-hundred table cloths were already hanging out on wire clothes lines to dry.

Some men were washing small tents with paraffin to season them against the weather.  Finally the great forty-horse team lumbered up with its mighty load.  The boss canvasman with half-a-hundred assistants began the construction of “the main top,” or performing tent, holding fifteen thousand people.

Andy, absorbed in every maneuver displayed, was completely lost in the deepest interest when a voice at his side aroused him.

“Tired waiting?” asked Billy Blow.

“Oh, no,” answered Andy, “I could watch this forever, I think.”

“It would soon get stale,” declared the clown, with a faint smile.  “Give us a hand, partner—­one at a time, and we’ll get my togs and ourselves under cover.”

Andy took one handle of the box, the clown the other.  They carried it to the door of one of twenty small tents near the cook’s quarters.  They brought the wicker trunk also, and then carried box and trunk inside the tent.

Andy looked about it curiously.  A candle burned on a bench.  Beyond it was a mattress.  Near one side, and boxed in by platform sections as if to keep off draughts, was a second smaller mattress.

On a stool near it sat a thin-faced, lady-like woman.  She was smiling down at a little boy lying huddled up in shawls and a comforter.

“This is my boy, Wildwood,” spoke Billy Blow.  “New hand, Midge—­if he makes good.”