Miss Royle, quite thrown off her poise, sank hissing to the ground. "My neuralgia's worse than ever this evening," she complained, affecting not to notice his interference.

"Huh!" he grunted. "Keep away from bargain counters."

The Piper came jangling up. "That snake belongs in her case," he declared, addressing the Doctor.

More than once Gwendolyn had wondered why the Piper had burdened himself--to all appearances uselessly and foolishly--with the various pieces of lead pipe. But now what wily forethought she granted him. For with a few quick flourishes of the wrench, she saw him join them, end to end, to form one length. This he threw to the ground, after which he gave a short, sharp whistle.

In answer to it, the Bird fluttered down, and entered one end of the pipe, giving, as he disappeared from sight, one faint cheep.

Miss Royle heard. Her scaly head glittered up once more. Her beady eyes shone. Her tongue darted hate. Then little by little, that long black body began to move--toward the pipe!

A moment, and she entered it; another, and the last foot of rustling serpent had disappeared. Then out of the farther end of the pipe bounced the Bird. Whereat the Piper sprang to the Bird's side, produced a nut, and screwed it on the pipe-end.

"How's that!" he cried triumphantly.

The pipe rolled partly over. A muffled voice came from it, railing at him: "Be careful what you do, young man! _I_ saw you had that bonnet of mine!"

"Oh, can a snake crawl backwards?" demanded Gwendolyn, excitedly.

The Piper answered with a harsh laugh. And scrambling the length of the lead pipe, fell to hammering in a plug.

Miss Royle was a prisoner!

The Bird bounced very high. "That's a feather in _your_ cap," he declared joyously, advancing to the Piper. And suiting the action to the word, pulled a tiny plume from his own wing, fluttered up, and thrust it under the band of the other's greasy head-gear.

"Think how that governess has treated me," growled Puffy. "When I was in your nursery, and was old and a little worn out, _how_ I would've appreciated care--and repair!"

"The Employment Agency for her," said the Piper.

"I'll attend to that," added the Policeman.

Gwendolyn's father had been gathering candles, and had seemed not to see what was transpiring. Now as if he was satisfied with his load, he suddenly started away in the direction he had come. His firm stride jolted the talking-machine not a little. The quacking cries recommenced--

"Please to pay me.... Let me sell you...! Let me borrow...! Won't you hire...! _Quack! Quack! Quack!_"

After him hurried the others in an excited group. The Piper led it, his plumbing-tools jangling, his pig-poke a-swing. And Gwendolyn saw him grin back over a shoulder craftily--then lay hold of her father and _tighten a strap_.

She trudged in the rear. She had found her father--and he could see only the candles he sought, and the money in his grasp! She was out in the open with him once more, where she was free to gambol and shout--yet he was bound by his harness and heavily laden.

"I might just as well be home," she said to Puffy, disheartened.

"Wish your father'd let me sharpen his ears," whispered the Man-Who-Makes-Faces. He shifted the hand-organ to the other shoulder.

The Doctor had a basket on his arm. He peered into it. "I haven't a thing about me," he declared, "but a bread-pill."

"How would a glass of soda-water do?" suggested the Policeman, in an undertone.

"Why, of _course!_"

It had happened before that the mere mention of a thing brought that dying swiftly. Now it happened again. For immediately Gwendolyn heard the rush and bubble and brawl of a narrow mountain-stream. Next, looking down from the summit of a gentle rise, she saw the smoky windings of the unbottled soda!

The Doctor was a man of action. Though the Policeman had made his suggestion only a second before, here was the former already leaning down to the stream; and, having dipped, was walking in the midst of the little company, glass in hand.

Gwendolyn ran forward. "Fath-er!" she called; "_please_ have a drink!"

Her father shook his head. "I'm not thirsty," he declared, utterly ignoring the proffered glass.

"I--I was 'fraid he wouldn't," sighed Gwendolyn, head down again, and scuffing bare feet in the cool damp grass of the stream-side--yet not enjoying it! The lights had changed: The double-ended candles had disappeared. Filling the Land once more with a golden glow were countless tapers--electric, gas, and kerosene. She was back where she had started, threading the trees among which she had danced with joy.

But she was far from dancing now!

"Let's not give up hope," said a voice--the Doctor's. He was holding up the glass before his face to watch the bubbles creaming upon its surface. "There may be a sudden turn for the better."

Before she could draw another breath--here was the turn! a sharp one.

And she, felt a keen wind in her eyes,--blown in gusts, as if by the wings of giant butterflies. The cloud that held the wind lay just ahead--a pinky mass that stretched from sky to earth.

The Bird turned his dark eyes upon Gwendolyn from where he sat, high and safe, on the Doctor's shoulder. "I think her little journey's almost done," he said. There was a rich canary note in his voice.

"Oo! goody!" she cried.

"You mean you have a solution?" asked the little old gentleman.

"A solution?" called back the Piper. "Well--?"

A moment's perfect stillness. Then, "It's simple," said the Bird. (Now his voice was strangely like the Doctor's.) "I suppose you might call it a salt solution."

His last three words began to run through Gwendolyn's mind--"A salt solution! A salt solution! A salt solution!"--as regularly as the pulse that throbbed in her throat.

"Yes,"--the Doctor's voice now, breathless, low, tremulous with anxiety. "If we want to save her--"

"Am I _her?_" interrupted Gwendolyn. (And again somebody sobbed!)

"--_It must be done!_"

"There isn't anything to cry about," declared Gwendolyn, stoutly. She felt hopeful, even buoyant.

It was all novel and interesting. The Doctor began by making grabs at the lump of salt on the Bird's tail. The lump loosened suddenly. He caught it between his palms, after which he began to roll it--precisely as he had rolled the dough at the Pillery. And as the salt worked into a more perfect ball, it slowly browned!

Gwendolyn clapped her hands. "My father won't know the difference," she cried.

"You get my idea exactly," answered the Bird.

The Doctor uncovered the pill-basket, selected a fine, round, toasted example of his own baking, and presented it to the Man-Who-Makes-Faces; presented a second to Gwendolyn; thence went from one to another of the little company, whereat everyone fell to eating.

At once Gwendolyn's father looked round the circle of picknickers--as if annoyed by the crunching; but when the Doctor held out the brown salt, he took it, examined it critically, turning it over and over, then lifted it--and bit.

"Pretty slim lunch this," he observed.

He ate heartily, until the last salt crumb was gone. Then, "I'm thirsty," he declared "Where's--?"