“They don’t really, Gary,” said his mother.  “The picture was just drawn that way to fit the old nursery rhyme about the elephant’s jumping up to the sky.”

“Then it ain’t so?” Jerry asked, terribly disappointed.

“No,” replied Whiteface, “but they do other things more remarkable than that.”

“What?” asked Jerry.  “I want to see them.”

“Of course you do,” said his father.  “You want to see all the circus and you shall to-night, and Mrs. Mullarkey and Celia Jane, too.”

“All of it?” questioned Jerry.  “The little man no bigger than a two-year-old baby and the sword-swallower and all?”

“And all,” replied Whiteface.  “The menagerie and the side show and the main performance.”

“Will Nora and Kathleen see it all, too?”

“Who are Nora and Kathleen?” his mother asked.

“Why, they’re Danny’s sisters!” he replied.  “Didn’t you know that?”

“You hadn’t mentioned them before,” said Whiteface, “but they’ll see it, too.  Are there any more in the Mullarkey family?”

“No,” answered Jerry, “just Danny and Chris and Nora and Celia Jane and Kathleen and Mother ’Larkey.”

By that time they had reached a part of another tent which was all screened off into small rooms, into one of which Whiteface and the lady carried Jerry, followed by Danny and Chris, who, torn between their desire to see the elephants perform and their curiosity about Jerry’s new-found father and mother and their desire to obey the beautiful lady, had kept close at their heels.

“Now,” said Mrs. Bowe, seating herself on a bench and taking Jerry on her lap, addressing Danny as the oldest, “tell me all you can about Gary.”

“Father found him one night along a country road, cryin’ in a fence corner, and brought him home,” said Danny, “an’ he’s lived with us ever since.  That’s all.”

“How long ago was that?” she questioned.

“It was when I was five an’ a half,” replied Danny.

“How old are you now?” Whiteface asked.

“Eight and more’n a half.”

“Three years ago,” said Mrs. Bowe.  “That was only a few months after he was stolen.  How did he happen to be alone in a country road?”

“I don’t know,” replied Danny.

“Perhaps your mother knows,” suggested Whiteface.

“I don’t think so,” Danny replied.  “Father always said it was a mystery.  It was very late at night—­almost midnight, I guess.”

“We must see her, Robert, and thank her for taking care of Gary.”

“Yes,” said Whiteface, “she kept him after her husband’s death—­with five children of her own.  She must have liked him very—­”

“She does,” Chris interrupted eagerly.

“We all do,” Danny stated.

“How could you help it?” asked Mrs. Bowe.  “Now, Gary, can you tell me anything about what happened to you?  Think hard.”

“Yes,” said his father.  “We left you in the dressing room with one of the girl acrobats while we were on and when we came back you were gone.  The girl had been called out for a few minutes and got back just as we did.  We hunted all over the circus for you and got the police to help us.”