“When I got down to the village it seemed to me as if the hull population of Freeland County was there.  I’d never seen so many folks together in my life, an’ fer a spell it seemed to me as if ev’rybody was a-lookin’ at me an’ sayin’, ‘That’s old Harum’s boy Dave, playin’ hookey,’ an’ I sneaked ‘round dreadin’ somebody ’d give me away; but I fin’ly found that nobody wa’n’t payin’ any attention to me—­they was there to see the show, an’ one red-headed boy more or less wa’n’t no pertic’ler account.  Wa’al, putty soon the percession hove in sight, an’ the’ was a reg’lar stampede among the boys, an’ when it got by, I run an’ ketched up with it agin, an’ walked alongside the el’phant, tin pail an’ all, till they fetched up inside the tent.  Then I went off to one side—­it must ‘a’ ben about ‘leven or half-past, an’ eat my dinner—­I had a devourin’ appetite—­an’ thought I’d jest walk round a spell, an’ then light out fer home.  But the’ was so many things to see an’ hear—­all the side-show pictures of Fat Women, an’ Livin’ Skelitons; an’ Wild Women of Madygasker, an’ Wild Men of Borneo; an’ snakes windin’ round women’s necks; hand-orgins; fellers that played the ‘cordion, an’ mouth-pipes, an’ drum an’ cymbals all to once, an’ such like—­that I fergot all about the time an’ the ten-acre lot, an’ the stun fence, an’ fust I knowed the folks was makin’ fer the ticket wagin, an’ the band begun to play inside the tent.  Be I taxin’ your patience over the limit?” said David, breaking off in his story and addressing Mrs. Cullom more directly.

“No, I guess not,” she replied; “I was jest thinkin’ of a circus I went to once,” she added with an audible sigh.

“Wa’al,” said David, taking a last farewell of the end of his cigar, which he threw into the grate, “mebbe what’s comin’ ’ll int’rest ye more ‘n the rest on’t has.  I was standin’ gawpin’ ‘round, list’nin’ to the band an’ watchin’ the folks git their tickets, when all of a suddin I felt a twitch at my hair—­it had a way of workin’ out of the holes in my old chip straw hat—­an’ somebody says to me, ’Wa’al, sonny, what you thinkin’ of?’ he says.  I looked up, an’ who do you s’pose it was?  It was Billy P. Cullom!  I knowed who he was, fer I’d seen him before, but of course he didn’t know me.  Yes, ma’am, it was Billy P., an’ wa’n’t he rigged out to kill!”

The speaker paused and looked into the fire, smiling.  The woman started forward facing him, and clasping her hands, cried, “My husband!  What’d he have on?”

“Wa’al,” said David slowly and reminiscently, “near’s I c’n remember, he had on a blue broad-cloth claw-hammer coat with flat gilt buttons, an’ a double-breasted plaid velvet vest, an’ pearl-gray pants, strapped down over his boots, which was of shiny leather, an’ a high pointed collar an’ blue stock with a pin in it (I remember wonderin’ if it c’d be real gold), an’ a yeller-white plug beaver hat.”

At the description of each article of attire Mrs. Cullom nodded her head, with her eyes fixed on David’s face, and as he concluded she broke out breathlessly, “Oh, yes!  Oh, yes!  David, he wore them very same clo’es, an’ he took me to that very same show that very same night!” There was in her face a look almost of awe, as if a sight of her long-buried past youth had been shown to her from a coffin.