He started back on opening it, for standing on the threshold was
a clown in his grotesque "make-up"; his white clothes were
partially concealed by a large, travelling ulster, held together
by one button. In one hand he carried a small leather satchel;
in the other a girl's sailor hat; a little tan coat was thrown
across his arm. The giggles of the boy hiding behind his
mother's skirt were the only greetings received by the trembling
old man in the doorway.
He glanced uncertainly from one unfriendly face to the other,
waiting for a word of invitation to enter; but none came.
"Excuse me," he said; "I just brought some of her little things.
She'd better put on her coat when she goes out. It's gettin'
kinder chilly."
He looked again into the blank faces; still no one spoke. He
stepped forward, trembling with anxiety. A sudden fear clutched
at his heart, the muscles of his face worked pitifully, the red
painted lips began to quiver.
"It ain't-- It ain't that, is it?" he faltered, unable to utter
the word that filled him with horror.
Even Miss Perkins was momentarily touched by the anguish in the
old man's voice. "I guess you will find the person you are
looking for upstairs," she answered tartly; and flounced out of
the house, calling to Julia and the others to follow her, and
declaring that she would soon let folks know how the parson had
brought a "circus ridin' girl" into the parsonage.
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