The Circus Boys On The Flying Rings | Page 8

he said quietly, extending a hand.
"Let me see that bag," snapped the old man.
"The bag is mine--it belonged to my mother," explained the boy.

"Surely you don't object to my taking it with me?"
"You're welcome to it, and good riddance; but I'm going to find out
what's inside of it."
"You surely don't think I would take anything that doesn't belong to
me--you can't mean that?"
"Ain't saying what I mean. Hand over that bag."
With burning cheeks, Phil did as he was bid, his unwavering eyes fixed
almost sternly on the wrathful face of Abner Adams.
"Huh!" growled the old man, tumbling the contents out on the floor,
shaking Phil's clothes to make sure that nothing was concealed in them.
Apparently satisfied, the old man threw the bag on the floor with an
exclamation of disgust. Phil once more gathered up his belongings and
stowed them away in the satchel.
"Turn out your pockets!"
"There is nothing in them, Uncle, save some trinkets of my own and
my mother's picture."
"Turn them out!" thundered the old man.
"Uncle, I have always obeyed you. Obedience was one of the things
that my mother taught me, but I'm sure that were she here she would
tell me I was right in refusing to humiliate myself as you would have
me do. There is nothing in my pockets that does not belong to me. I am
not a thief."
"Then I'll turn them out myself!" snarled Abner Adams, starting
forward.
Phil stepped back a pace, satchel in hand.
"Uncle, I am a man now," said the boy, straightening to his full height.

"Please don't force me to do something that I should be sorry for all the
rest of my life. Will you shake hands with me?"
"No!" thundered Abner Adams. "Get out of my sight before I lay the
stick over your head!"
Phil stretched out an appealing hand, then hastily withdrew it.
"Good-bye, Uncle Abner," he breathed.
Without giving his uncle a chance to reply, the lad turned, opened the
door and ran down the steps.

CHAPTER III
MAKING HIS START IN THE WORLD
The sun was just setting as Phil Forrest strode out of the yard. Once
outside of the gate he paused, glancing irresolutely up and down the
street. Which way to turn or where to go he did not know. He had not
thought before of what he should do.
Phil heard the clatter of Abner Adams' stick as the old man thumped
about in the kitchen.
Suddenly the door was jerked open with unusual violence.
"Begone!" bellowed Mr. Adams, brandishing his cane threateningly.
Phil turned down the street, without casting so much as a glance in the
direction of his wrathful uncle, and continued on toward the open
country. To anyone who had observed him there was nothing of
uncertainty in the lad's walk as he swung along. As a matter of fact,
Phil had not the slightest idea where he was going. He knew only that
he wanted to get away by himself.
On the outskirts of the village men had been at work that day, cutting

and piling up hay. The field was dotted with heaps of the fragrant,
freshly garnered stuff.
Phil hesitated, glanced across the field, and, noting that the men had all
gone home for the day, climbed the fence. He walked on through the
field until he had reached the opposite side of it. Then the lad placed
his bag on the ground and sat down on a pile of hay.
With head in hands, he tried to think, to plan, but somehow his mind
seemed unable to perform its proper functions. It simply would not
work.
"Not much of a start in the world, this," grinned Phil, shifting his
position so as to command a better view of the world, for he did not
want anyone to see him. "I suppose Uncle Abner is getting supper now.
But where am I going to get mine? I hadn't thought of that before. It
looks very much as if I should have to go without. But I don't care.
Perhaps it will do me good to miss a meal," decided the boy
sarcastically. "I've been eating too much lately, anyhow."
Twilight came; then the shadows of night slowly settled over the
landscape, while the lad lay stretched out on the sweet-smelling hay,
hands supporting his head, gazing up into the starlit sky.
Slowly his heavy eyelids fluttered and closed, and Phil was asleep. The
night was warm and he experienced no discomfort. He was a strong,
healthy boy, so that sleeping out of doors was no hardship to him. All
through the night he slept as soundly as if he had been in his own bed at
home. Nor did