When Noddy reached the Glen, he had time to stop and think; and the consequences of the sudden step he had taken came to his mind with tremendous force.  He had fled from Miss Bertha, and all the comforts and luxuries which had surrounded him at Woodville.  He was a vagabond again.

It was a great deal better to be a vagabond than it was to be an inmate of a prison, or even of a tinker’s shop.  He had committed no crime; the worst that could be said of him was, that he was a victim of circumstances.  It was unfortunate for him that he had used those petulant words, that he wished the boat-house was burned down, for they had put the idea into Fanny’s head.  He did not mean to kindle the fire, but he believed that he had been the cause of it, and that it was hardly fair to let the young lady suffer for what he had virtually done.

He was sorry to leave Woodville, and above all, sorry to be banished from the presence of Miss Bertha.  But that had already been agreed upon, and he was only anticipating the event by taking himself off as he did.  He would rather have gone in a more honorable manner than running away like a hunted dog; but he could not help that, and the very thought of the horrible court-house was enough to drive him from the best home in the world.

He walked up to a retired part of the Glen, where he could continue his retreat without being intercepted, if it became necessary, and sat down on a rock to think of the future.  He had no more idea what he should do with himself, than he had when he was a wanderer before in these regions.  Undoubtedly his ultimate purpose was to go to sea; but he was not quite ready to depart.  He cherished a hope that he might contrive to meet Bertha in some of her walks, and say good-bye to her before he committed himself to his fortunes on the stormy ocean.

While he was deliberating upon his prospects, a happy thought, as he regarded it, came to his mind.  He could turn somersets, and cut more capers than any man in the circus company which he had seen on the preceding day.  With a little practice, he was satisfied that he could learn to stand up on the back of a horse.  A field of glory suddenly opened to his vision, and he could win the applause of admiring thousands by his daring feats.  He had performed all sorts of gyrations for the amusement of the idlers about Woodville, and he might now turn his accomplishments to a useful purpose ­indeed, make them pay for his food and clothing.

Noddy had no idea that circus performances were not entirely respectable; and it seemed to him that his early training had exactly fitted him to shine in this peculiar sphere.  It might not be decent business for Mr. Grant and Bertha, but it was just the thing for him.  Whitestone was a very large town, and the circus was still there.  He had not a moment to lose; and, under the impulse of his new resolution, he left the Glen, intending to walk up the river to the ferry, a couple of miles distant.

Noddy went over the river, and reached the great tent of the circus company about one o’clock.  He was rather disturbed by the fear that he might meet Squire Wriggs, or some of the constables; but all his hopes were now centred on the circus, and he could not avoid the risk of exposing himself.  He boldly inquired for the “head man” of the establishment; but this distinguished functionary was not on the premises at that time; he would be there in the course of half an hour.

He walked down to a shop, and having a small sum of money in his pocket, he obtained something to eat.  On his return to the tent, the head man was pointed out to him.  Noddy, as a general rule, was not troubled with bashfulness; and he walked resolutely up to the manager, and intimated to him that he should like to be engaged as a performer.

“What do you want, my boy?” demanded the head man, who was quite confident that he had mistaken the applicant’s meaning, for it was hardly possible that a youth like him could be a circus performer.

“I want a place to perform, sir,” repeated Noddy, who was entirely ignorant of the technical terms belonging to the profession.

“To perform!” laughed the manager, measuring him from head to foot with his eye.

“Yes, sir.”

“What kind of business can you do, my boy?”

“Almost anything, sir.”

“Do you ride?”

“No, sir; I’m not much used to standing up on a horse, but I think I could go it, after doing it a little while.”

“Do you, indeed!” sneered the man.  “Well, we don’t want anybody that can do almost any kind of business.”

“I’m used to this thing, sir,” pleaded Noddy.

“Used to it!  I suppose you want a place as a bill-sticker, or to take care of the horses.”

“No, sir; I want to perform.  If you will give me a chance to show what I can do, I think you’ll have me,” persisted Noddy, not at all pleased with the decided refusal he had received.

“Well, come in here,” laughed the head man, who had no doubt that the applicant would soon be brought to grief.

It was almost time for the doors to be opened for the afternoon performance, and the man conducted Noddy to the ring, where he saw a number of the riders and gymnasts, all dressed in their silks and spangles to appear before the public.

“Here, Whippleby, is a young man that wants an engagement,” said the manager to the man who had acted as ring-master when Noddy was present.

“What can he do?”

“Almost everything; but he isn’t much used to riding.”

Whippleby laughed, and the manager laughed; and it was quite evident, even to the aspirant for circus honors, that all present intended to amuse themselves at his expense.  But Noddy felt able to outdo most of the circus people at their own profession, and he confidently expected to turn the laugh upon them before the game was ended.

“A versatile genius,” said Whippleby.

“Just try him, and see what he can do,” added the manager, significantly.

“Well, my little man, what do you say to a little ground and lofty tumbling,” said Whippleby, winking at the performers, who stood in a circle around them.

“I’m at home in that,” replied Noddy, throwing off his jacket.

“Good!  You have got pluck enough, at any rate.  Here, Nesmond, do something,” said the ring-master to a wiry young man of the group.

Nesmond did what Noddy had seen him do the day before; he whirled over and over across the ring, like a hoop, striking his hands and feet alternately on the ground.

“There, youngster, do you see that?” said Whippleby.

“Yes, sir, I see it,” replied Noddy, unabashed by the work which was expected of him.

“Now, let us see you do it.”

Noddy did it, and if anything, more rapidly and gracefully than the professional man.  The men applauded, and Nesmond ­“the great American vaulter and tumbler” ­looked exceedingly disconcerted when he saw his wonderful act so easily imitated.

“Try it again, Nesmond,” said Whippleby.

The distinguished athlete went on for half an hour, performing his antics; and Noddy repeated them, though he had never before attempted some of them.  Nesmond gave it up.

“Well, young man, you can do almost everything, but you are as clumsy and ungraceful as a bear about it.  You need a little training on your positions, and you will make a first-class tumbler,” said the manager.

The men had ceased to laugh, and even looked admiringly on the prodigy who had so suddenly developed himself.  Noddy felt that his fortune was already made, and he was almost ready to snap his fingers at the court-house.  Here was a chance for him to “work and win,” and it was entirely to his taste.

The manager then questioned him in regard to his family connections; but as Noddy had none, his answers were very brief.  He had no father nor mother, and he had no home; he was no runaway, for there was no one living who had any claim upon him.  These answers were entirely satisfactory to the head man.

“What salary do you expect?” asked the manager, when he had assured himself there was no one to interfere with any arrangement he might make.

“What do you give?” asked Noddy.

“Well, we give different salaries, depending on the men.”

“You have seen what I can do ­what will you give me?  Talk right up, or I shall have nothing to do with it,” added Noddy, borrowing an expression from a highly respectable horse jockey, who had a language of his own.

“I’ll give you your board and clothes, and your dresses for the first season.”

“Nothing of that sort for me,” replied Noddy, promptly.  “I want to know how much I am to have in hard cash.”

“Very well; I’ll give you five dollars a week, and you find yourself.”

Five dollars a week looked like a large salary to Noddy, though it was not one-fourth of what the distinguished Mr. Nesmond received, and he immediately closed the bargain.

“I’ll put you on the bills for the next town we visit.  What’s your name?”

“Noddy Newman.”

“What?”

The embryo performer repeated his name.

“That won’t do; you must have a better name than that.  Arthur De Forrest ­how will that suit you?”

“First rate,” replied Noddy, who was very accommodating in minor matters.

“We show in Disbury to-morrow night, and you must be ready to do your business then, Mr. De Forrest,” added the manager.  “After the performance this afternoon Mr. Whippleby will give you a few lessons.”

“But where shall I get a dress?”

“I will furnish you one, and take it out of your salary.  You had better put it on when you practice, so as to get used to it.”

Noddy was highly pleased with all these arrangements, and could not help congratulating himself on the happy thought which had induced him to join the circus.  It was true, and he could not help noticing it, that the men around him were not such people as Mr. Grant, and others whom he had been in the habit of seeing at Woodville.  All of them swore terribly; their breath smelt of liquor, and they talked the language of a depravity to which Noddy, with all his waywardness, was a stranger.  There were boys no older than himself in the company, but they did not seem a whit less depraved than the older ones.

Though the novice was not a young man of high aims and purposes, he was not much pleased with his companions.  He was what they termed “green,” and it was quite plain to him that there would be a fight before many days had passed by, for he was too high-spirited to submit tamely to the insults which were heaped upon him.

During the afternoon performance, he stood at the gates of the ring, where the horses enter; and Mr. Whippleby sent him before the public for the first time, to bring out a whip which had been left there.

“Noddy Newman!” shouted a boy among the spectators.

The young athlete heard his name, and too late he remembered that he had exposed himself to the gaze of the constables, who might by this time be in search of him.  During the rest of the afternoon he kept himself out of sight; but the mischief had already been done.