"
The buckboard had been brought around, and the four young people climbed
in, Harkless driving. Before they started, the judge, standing on the
horse-block in front of the gate, leaned over and patted Miss Sherwood's
hand again. Harkless gathered up the reins.
"You'll make a great Hoosier, all right," said the old man, beaming upon
the girl. "You needn't worry about that, I guess, my dear."
When he said "my dear," Harkless spoke to the horses.
"Wait," said the judge, still holding the girl's hand. "You'll make a
great Hoosier, some day; don't fret. You're already a very beautiful one."
Then he bent his white head and kissed her, gallantly. John said: "Good
afternoon, judge"; the whip cracked like a pistol-shot, and the buckboard
dashed off in a cloud of dust.
"Every once in a while, Harkless," the old fellow called after them, "you
must remember to look at the team."
The enormous white tent was filled with a hazy yellow light, the warm,
dusty, mellow light that thrills the rejoicing heart because it is found
nowhere in the world except in the tents of a circus--the canvas-filtered
sunshine and sawdust atmosphere of show day. Through the entrance the
crowd poured steadily, coming from the absorptions of the wild-animal tent
to feast upon greater wonders; passing around the sawdust ellipse that
contained two soul-cloying rings, to find seats whence they might behold
the splendors so soon to be unfolded.
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