She sighed--a deep, tremulous sigh of content.

CHAPTER XVI

She moved her head from side to side slowly. And felt the cool touch of the pillow against either cheek. Then she tried to lift her arms; but found that one hand was still in a big grasp, the other in a clasp that was softer.

Little by little, and with effort, she opened her gray eyes. In the dimness she could see, to her left, scarcely more than an outline of a dark-clad figure, stooped and watchful; of that other slender figure opposite. After all the fatigue and worry of the night, her father and mother were with her yet! And someone was standing at the foot of her bed, leaning and looking down at her. That was the Doctor.

She lay very still. This was a novel experience, this having both father and mother in the nursery at the same time--and plainly in no haste to depart! The heaviness of deep sleep was gradually leaving her.

Yet she forbore to speak; and as each moment went she dreaded the passing of it, lest her wonderful new happiness come to an end.

Presently she ventured a look around--at the pink-tinted ceiling, with its cluster of full-blown plaster roses out of which branched the chandelier; at the walls of soft rose, met here and there by the deeper rose of the brocade hangings; at the plushy rug, the piano, the large table--now scattered with an unusual assortment of bottles and glasses; at the dresser, crystal-topped and strewn daintily, the deep upholstered chair, and the long cushioned seat across the front window, over which, strangely enough, no dome-topped cage was swinging.

And there was the tall toy-case. The shelves of it were unchanged. On that one below the line of prettily clad dolls were the toys she favored most--the black-and-red top, the handsome soldier in the scarlet coat, the jointed snake beside its pipe-like box, and the somersault man, poised heels over head. Beyond these, ranged in a buff row, were the six small ducks acquired at Easter. She gave each plaything a keen glance.

They reminded her vividly of the long busy night just past!

Her small nose wrinkled in a quizzical smile.

At that the three waiting figures stirred.

Her look came back to them, to rest first upon her father's face, noting how long and pale and haggard it was, how sunken the temples, how bloodless the tightly pressed lips, how hollow the unshaven cheeks. When she turned to gaze at her mother, as daintily clad as ever, and as delicately perfumed--showing no evidence of dusty travel--she saw how pitifully pale was that dear beautiful face. But the eyes were no longer proud!--only anxious, tender and purple-shadowed.

Next, Gwendolyn lifted her eyes to the Doctor, and felt suddenly conscience-stricken, remembering how she had always dreaded him, had taken the mere thought of his coming as punishment; remembering, too, how helpful and kind he had been to her through the night.

He began to speak, low and earnestly, and as if continuing something already half said:

"Pardon my bluntness, but it's a bad thing when there's too much money spent on forcing the brain before the body is given a chance--or the soul. Does a child get food that is simple and nourishing, and enough of it? Is all exercise taken in the open? Too often, I find, where there's a motor at the beck and call of a nurse, the child in her charge is utterly cut off--and in the period of quickest growth--from a normal supply of plain walking. Every boy and girl has a right" (his voice deepened with feeling) "to the great world out of doors. Let the warm sun, and the fresh air, and God's good earth--"

Gwendolyn moved. "Is--is he praying?" she whispered.

There was a moment of silence. Then, "No, daughter," answered her father, while her mother leaned to lay a gentle hand on her forehead.

The Doctor went aside to the larger table and busied himself with some bottles. When he came back, her father lifted her head a trifle by lifting the pillow--her mother rising quickly to assist--and the Doctor put a glass to Gwendolyn's lips. She drank dutifully, and was lowered.

At once she felt stronger. "Is the sun up?" she asked. Her voice was weak, and somewhat hoarse.

"Would you like to see the sky?" asked her father. And without waiting for her eager nod, crossed to the front window and drew aside the heavy silk hangings.

Serenely blue was the long rectangle framed by curtains and casing.

Across it not a single fat sheep was straying.

"Moth-er!"

"Yes, darling?"

"Is--is always the same piece of Heaven right there through the window?"

"No. The earth is turning all the time--just as your globe in the school-room turns. And so each moment you see a new square of sky."

The Doctor nodded with satisfaction. "Um! Better, aren't we?" he inquired, smiling down.

She returned the smile. "Well, _I_ am," she declared. "But--I didn't know you felt bad."

He laughed. "Tell me something," he went on. "I sent a bottle of medicine here yesterday."

"Yes. It was a little bottle."

"How much of it did Jane give you? Can you remember?"

"Well, first she poured out one teaspoonful--"

The Doctor had been leaning again on the foot of the white-and-gold bed.

Now he fell back of a sudden. "A _teaspoonful!_" he gasped. And to Gwendolyn's father, "Why, that wretched girl didn't read the directions on the bottle!"

There was another silence. The two men stared at each other. But Gwendolyn's mother, her face paler than before, bent above the yellow head on the pillow.

"After I drank _that_ teaspoonful," went on Gwendolyn, "Jane wouldn't believe me. And so she made me take the other."

"_Another!_"--it was the Doctor once more. He pressed a trembling hand to his forehead.

Her father rose angrily. "She shall be punished," he declared. And began to walk to and fro. "I won't let this pass."

Gwendolyn's look followed him tenderly. "Well, you see, she didn't know about--about nursery work," she explained. "'Cause before she came here she was just a cook."

"Oh, my baby daughter!" murmured Gwendolyn's mother, brokenly. She bent forward until her face was hidden against the silken cover of the bed.

"Mother didn't know you were being neglected! She thought she was giving you the _best_ of care, dear!"

"Two spoonfuls!" said the Doctor, grimly. "That explains everything!"

"Oh, but I didn't want to take the last one," protested Gwendolyn, hastily, "--though it tasted good. She made me. She said if I didn't--"

"So!" exclaimed the Doctor, interrupting. "She frightened the poor little helpless thing in order to get obedience!"

"Gwendolyn!" whispered her mother. "She _frightened_ you?"

The gray eyes smiled wisely. "It doesn't matter now," she said, a hint of triumph in her voice. "I've found out that P'licemen are nice. And so are--are Doctors"--she dimpled and nodded. "And all the bears in the world that are outside of cages are just Puffy Bears grown up." Then uncertainly, "But I didn't find out about--the other."

"What other?" asked her father, pausing in his walk.

The gray eyes were diamond-bright now. "Though I don't _really_ believe it," she hastened to add. "But--_do_ wicked men keep watch of this house."

"_Wicked men?_" Her mother suddenly straightened.

"Kidnapers."

This innocent statement had an unexpected effect. Again her father began to stride up and down angrily, while her mother, head drooping once more, began to weep.