Billy’s brows were puckered, and he sat unusually quiet for a while, looking at his mother.  Finally he said:  “You might take my snow-money from las’ week.”

Mrs. Wiggs was indignant.  “Why, Billy Wiggs!” she exclaimed, “do you think I’d take an’ go to a show, when Asia an’ Australia ain’t got a good shoe to their backs?”

Billy said no more about the theater, but that afternoon, when he was out with the kindling, he pondered the matter deeply.  It was quite cold, and sometimes he had to put the reins between his knees and shove his hands deep into his pockets to get the stiffness out of them.  It really seemed as if everybody had just laid in a supply of kindling, and the shadowy little plan he had been forming was growing more shadowy all the time.

“I ’spect the tickets cost a heap,” he thought ruefully, as he drew himself up into a regular pretzel of a boy; “but, then, she never does have no fun, an’ never gits a thing fer herself.”  And because Billy knew of his mother’s many sacrifices, and because he found it very hard to take Jim’s place, a lump lodged in his throat, and gave him so much trouble that he forgot for a while how cold he was.

About this time he came within sight of the Opera House, and tantalizing posters appeared of the “Greatest Extravaganza of the Century.”  He pulled Cuba into a walk, and sat there absorbing the wonders depicted; among the marvels were crowds of children dressed as butterflies, beautiful ladies marching in line, a man balancing a barrel on his feet, and—­yes, there was the man in “skin-tights” walking on the rope!

A keen puff of wind brought Billy back to his senses, and as his longing eyes turned from the gorgeous show-bills they encountered the amused look of a gentleman who had just come out from the Opera House.  He was so tall and fine-looking that Billy thought he must own the show.

“Some kindlin’, sir?”

The gentleman shook his head.  The posters still danced before Billy’s eyes; if his mother could only see the show!  The last chance seemed slipping away.  Suddenly a bold idea presented itself.  He got out of the wagon, and came up on the step.

“Couldn’t you use a whole load, if I was to take it out in tickets?”

The man looked puzzled.  “Take it out in tickets?” he repeated.

“Yes, sir,” said Billy, “theayter tickets.  Don’t you own the show?”

The gentleman laughed.  “Well, hardly,” he said.  “What do you want with more than one ticket?”

There was a certain sympathy in his voice, in spite of the fact that he was still laughing, and before Billy knew it he had told him all about it.

“How many tickets could yer gimme fer the load?” he asked, in conclusion.

The gentleman made a hurried calculation.  “You say you have three sisters?” he asked.

“Yep,” said Billy.

“Well, I should say that load was worth about five tickets.”