He hesitated.

"Yes?"--eagerly.

"That only fathers and mothers can answer."

"Oh!"

"Didn't you know that?" demanded the Policeman, surprised.

"Tee! hee! hee! hee!" snickered Jane. Though she was some few steps in the rear, her difficult breathing could be plainly heard. She had laughed so much into her sleeve, and had grown so stout, that by now not a single wrinkle remained in the black sateen; _worse_--she was beginning to try every square inch of the cloth sorely. And having danced every foot of the way, she was tiring.

"Oh, fath-er-and-moth-er questions," said Gwendolyn.

"Precisely," answered the little old gentleman; "--about my friends, Santa Claus and the Sand-Man, for instance--"

"They're not friends of Potter's, I guess. 'Cause he--"

"--And the fairies, and the gnomes, and the giants; and Mother Goose and _her_ crowd. Of course a nurse or a governess or a teacher of some sort might _try_ to explain. Wouldn't do any good, though. You wouldn't understand."

The Policeman swung his head back and forth, nodding. "That's the worst," said he, "of being a Poor--" Here he fell suddenly silent, and spatted the dust with his palms in an embarrassed way.

She understood. "A Poor Little Rich Girl," she said, "who doesn't see her fath-er and moth-er."

"But you will," he declared determinedly, and forged ahead faster than ever, white hand following white hand.

It was then that Gwendolyn heard the nurse muttering and chortling to herself. "Well, I never!" exclaimed the tongue-tip that was not being held. "If this ain't a' _automobile_ road! Why, it's a _fine_ auto_mo_bile road! Ha! ha! ha! _That makes a difference!_"

Gwendolyn was startled. What did Jane mean? _What_ difference? Why so much satisfaction all at once? She wished the others would listen; would take note of the triumphant air. But both were busy, the little old gentleman chattering and pointing ahead, the Policeman straining to keep pace and look where his companion directed.

To lessen her uneasiness, Gwendolyn hunted a second stick of candy. Then sidled in between her two friends. "Oh, please," she began appealingly, with a glance up and a glance down, "I'm 'fraid Jane's going to make us trouble. Can't we think of some way to get rid of her?"

The Policeman twisted his neck around until he could wink at her with his black eye. "In town," said he meaningly, "we Policemen have a way."

"Oh, tell us!" she begged. For the Man-Who-Makes-Faces looked keenly interested.

"Well," resumed the Officer--and now he halted just long enough to raise a gloved finger to one side of his head with a significant gesture--"when we want to get rid of a person, we put a flea in his ear."

Gwendolyn blushed rosy. A flea! It was an insect that Miss Royle had never permitted her to mention. Still--

"But--but where could we--er--find--a--a--?"

She had stammered that far when she saw the little old gentleman turn his wrinkled face over a shoulder. Next, he jerked an excited thumb. And looking, she saw that Jane was _failing to keep up_.

By now the nurse had swelled to astonishing proportions. Her body was as round as a barrel. Her face was round too, and more red than ever. Her cheeks were so puffed, the skin of her forehead was so tight and shiny, that she looked precisely like a monster copy of a sanitary rubber doll!

"She can't last much longer! Her strength's giving out." It was the Policeman. And his voice ended in a sob. (Yet the sob meant nothing, for he was showing all his white teeth in a delighted smile.)

"She must have help!"--this the Man-Who-Makes-Faces. His voice broke, too. But his round, dark eyes were brimming with laughter.

"Who'll help her?" demanded Gwendolyn. "_Nobody_. So _one_ of that three is gone for good!"

She halted now--on the summit of a rise. Up this, but at a considerable distance, Jane was toiling, with feeble hops to the right, and staggering steps to the left, and faint, fat gasps.

"Oh, Gwendolyn darlin'!" she called weepingly. "Oh, don't leave your Jane! Oh! Oh!"

"I've made up my mind," announced Gwendolyn, "to have the nurse-maid in the brick house. So, good-by--good-by."

She began to descend rapidly, with the little old gentleman in a shuffling run, and the Policeman springing from hand to hand as if he feared pursuit, and swaying his legs from side to side with a _tick-tock, tick-tock_. The going was easy. Soon the bottom of the slope was reached. Then all stopped to look back.

Jane had just gained the top. But was come to a standstill. Over the brow of the hill could be seen only her full face--like a big red moon.

At the sight, Gwendolyn felt a thrill of joy--the joy of freedom found again. "Why, she's not coming up," she called out delightedly. "She's going down!" And she punctuated her words with a gay skip.

That skip proved unfortunate. For as ill-luck would have it, she stumbled. And stumbling stubbed her toe. The toe struck two small stones that lay partly embedded in the road--dislodged them--turned them end for end--and sent them skimming along the ground.

"_Two!_" cried the Policeman. "_Now_ who?"

"If only the right kind come!" added the little old gentleman, each of his round eyes rimmed with sudden white.

"I'll blow my whistle." Up swung the shining bit of metal on the end of its chain.

"Blow it at the top of your lungs!"

The Policeman had balanced himself on his head, thrown away his gum, and put the whistle against his lips. Now he raised it and placed it against his chest, just above his collar-button. Then he blew. And through the forest the blast rang and echoed and boomed--until all the tapers rose and fell, and all the footlights flickered.

Instantly that red moon sank below the crest of the hill. Puffs of smoke rose in its place. Then there was borne to the waiting trio a sound of _chugging_. And the next instant, with a purr of its engine, and a whirr of its wheels, here into full sight shot forward the limousine!

Gwendolyn paled. The half-devoured stick of candy slipped from her fingers. "Oh, I don't want to be shut up in the car!" she cried out.

"And I won't! I _won't!_ I WON'T!" She scurried behind the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.

The automobile came on. Its polished sides reflected the varied lights of the forest. Its hated windows glistened. One door swung wide, as if yawning for a victim!

The little old gentleman, as he watched it, seemed interested rather than apprehensive. After a moment, "Recollect my speaking of the Piper?"

he asked.

"Y-y-yes."

At the mention of the Piper, the Policeman stared up. "The Pip-Piper!"

he protested, stammering, and beginning to back away.

At that, Gwendolyn felt renewed anxiety. "The Piper!" she faltered. "Oh, I'll have to settle with him." And thrust a searching hand into the patch-pocket.

The Policeman kept on retreating. "I don't want to see him," he declared. "He made me pay too dear for my whistle." And he bumped his head against his night-stick.

The Man-Who-Makes-Faces hastened to him, and halted him by grasping him about his fast-swaying legs. "You can't run away from the Piper," he reminded. "So--"

Gwendolyn was no longer frightened. In her search for money she had found the gold-mounted leather case. This she now clutched, receiving courage from the stiff upper-lip.

But the Policeman was far from sanguine. Now perspiration and not tears glistened on his forehead. He grasped his club with one shaking hand.