It was 11:15 pm. The freight was scheduled to pull off at midnight. Puck lifted the window and tossed the satchel out onto the ground before slipping himself through it. Though the depot was just a fifteen-minute walk, the boy had to account for the foot and ankle slowing him down. As Puck began to distance himself from the cabin, he turned back one last time to take it in.

Screeching wheels tore Puck away from his sleep in the corner of the boxcar. When he raised up, the scattered newspapers he'd placed underneath him were still clinging to his clothes. Puck rubbed his eyes. "Wha-what's going on?" he murmured to himself. The train had come to a stop and Puck could here muffled voices coming from outside the car. His heart began to race at the prospect of someone finding out that there was a stowaway aboard. The voices then grew closer before they eventually dissipated. Now was his chance to break away, not knowing where he was and how far from his destination.

Puck slid the boxcar door slightly open and peaked his head out. There was no one. All the commotion was at the front of the line. He grabbed his satchel and carefully hopped off the train. Though it was still dark out, the stars were bright, bright enough to lead him away from the freight. He got far enough from it to pull a small flashlight from the satchel. Puck surveyed his surroundings. He was in the middle of nowhere. The only thing left to do now was walk...walk until he could walk no more.

As the sun began to peak from the hills, Puck came upon a marker that read: Layburn Creek 1 mile. Puck retrieved the atlas from the satchel and located it on the map. Layburn Creek was 187 miles southeast of St. Louis and had a population of 1046. Like Alberta, it was a small town. Hopefully, it was just as friendly.

***

When he awoke the next morning, George grew concerned that he didn't find Puck, usually an early-riser, already seated at the breakfast table. He'd grown accustomed to having his morning coffee with the boy, and it was unlike Puck to have overslept because he had never done so before. Rather than call out to him and wake Charlotte, George rapped on the boy's door a few times. When there was no answer, he entered the small cabin room, only to find on the bed a handwritten note, which read:

Dear George,

I know you will think that I left because of our talk in the store and that is part of my reasoning. Truth is, like I told you when we first met, I've been dreaming of becoming a juggler in the circus ever since I can remember. After being in Alberta with you and Charlotte and the townspeople over this past month, well, I was beginning to lose sight of that. After we had our talk, I was reminded that juggling was the reason I started this adventure to begin.

You're a good man, George Clemens. Maybe some day I'll find my way back to your little town. I was really starting to feel like I found a real home.

Thank you for everything you did for me. And tell Charlotte I will miss her fine cooking. You take care.

Your friend,

Puck

Though he understood the boy's reasons, George was sad that Puck had left and could only hope that he'd get a chance to see Puck again some day.

***

Puck had walked another 200 meters when he heard voices. He followed the direction of the voices until he ran across a set of twins—a girl and boy—fishing at a creek. They were Mason and Margaret Bailey.

After exchanging names, the three commenced to becoming acquainted.

"Where are you headed, Puck?"

"I was trying to get to St. Louis by way of Alberta. I hopped a train last night, but it ran into some trouble on our way there. I didn't want to get caught, so I took my leave. And now I'm here."

"What's in St. Louis?" asked the girl, who wore glasses and had freckles.

"I'm hoping there's a circus."

"Circus? What for? You never been or something?"

"Nope, but that's not why I want to go."

"What kinda person ain't ever been to the circus?"

"The orphan kind."

"Oh."

"Like I was saying, I'm trying to get to the circus so that I can join it."

The twins laughed. "I thought I'd heard it all," one of them remarked.

"I wouldn't expect either of you to get it. Just point me in the direction of your town and I'll be on my way."

Mason cut his eyes over at his sister as if to give her the "we messed up" look. "Hold up. We didn't mean nothing by it. Why don't you stay and fish with us. Ever been fishing?"

Puck went on to explain to them that the Reverend at the orphanage back home took them on a fishing trip once. He had one word for it—boring. Unlike some of the other boys, he didn't catch a single fish. The Bailey twins, whose parents owned a fish and tackle shop, insisted that things would be different this time because he would be fishing in Layburn Creek, the absolute best place in the world to go fishing and one of their main attractions. The lake ran almost the length of the town of Layburn Creek itself.

According to the twins, everybody in Layburn Creek went fishing. It was the only pastime. In fact, the town was getting ready to host its annual fishing expedition. There were prizes and everything. Last year, Mason took home third prize in the teens division for his bigmouth buffalo catch that weighed in at an impressive 27 lbs and measured 35 1/2 inches.

"You should stay for the festival on Saturday," Mason said to him. "I promise it's like nothing you ever seen."

For Puck, obviously, he could say that about most everything he'd encounter on this journey. "I don't know. Maybe. I wasn't planning on staying here more than a day or two."

Margaret chimed in. "What's one more day?"

"I can't make any promises, but I'll think about it."

"Well, you won't be leaving tonight for sure. You must be pretty tired and hungry, right?" she asked.

"I could stand a bite to eat and somewhere to lay my head, yes."

"Then it's settled. You're staying with us."