"Some time you'll get hold of
one of the India rubber doughnuts that they feed to circus people,
an' choke yourself to death."
Toby shook his head, and devoured this second cake as quickly as
he had the first, craning his neck, and uttering a funny little
squeak as the last bit went down, just as a chicken does when he
gets too large a mouthful of dough.
"I'll never choke," he said, confidently. "I'm used to it; and Uncle
Dan'l says I could eat a pair of boots an' never wink at 'em; but
I don't just believe that."
As the driver made no reply to this remark Toby watched with no
little interest all that was passing on around him. Each of the
wagons had a lantern fastened to the hind axle, and these lights
could be seen far ahead on the road, as if a party of fireflies
had started in single file on an excursion. The trees by the side
of the road stood out weird and ghostly looking in the darkness,
and the rumble of the carts ahead and behind formed a musical
accompaniment to the picture that sounded strangely doleful.
Mile after mile was passed over in perfect silence, save now and
then when the driver would whistle a few bars of some very dismal
tune that would fairly make Toby shiver with its mournfulness.
Eighteen miles was the distance from Guilford to the town where
the next performance of the circus was to be given, and as Toby
thought of the ride before them it seemed as if the time would
be almost interminable.
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