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“Oh, my goodness!” she said mournfully.

She was holding tight to the little old gentleman’s coat-tails. Now he leaned down. “We must get rid of her,” he declared. “You know what I said. She’ll make us trouble!”

“Here! None of that!” It was Jane once more, the grin replaced by a dark look. “I’ll have you know this child is in my charge.” Again she tried to seize Gwendolyn.

The Man-Who-Makes-Faces stood his ground resolutely—and swung the curved knife up to check any advance.

“She doesn’t need you,” he declared “She’s seven, and she’s grown-up.” And to Gwendolyn, “Tell her so! Don’t be afraid! Tell her!”

Gwendolyn promptly opened her mouth. But try as she would, she could not speak. Her lips seemed dry. Her tongue refused to move. She could only swallow!

As if he understood her plight, the little old gentleman suddenly sprang aside to where was the sauce-box, snatched something out of it, ran to the other table and picked up an oblong leather case (a case exactly like the gold-mounted one in which Miss Royle kept her spectacles), put the something out of the sauce-box into the case, closed the case with a snap, and put it, with a swift motion, into Gwendolyn’s hand.

“There!” he cried triumphantly. “There’s that stiff upper lip! Now you can answer.”

It was true! No sooner did she feel the leather case against her palm, than her fear, and her hesitation and lack of words, were gone!

She assumed a determined attitude, and went up to Jane. “I don’t need you,” she said firmly. “‘Cause I’m seven years old now, and I’m grown up. And—what are you here for anyhow?“

At the very boldness of it, Jane’s manner completely changed. That front countenance took on a silly simper. And she put her two-faced head, now on one side, now on the other, ingratiatingly.

“What am I here for!” she repeated in an injured tone. “And you ask me that, Miss? Why, what should I be doin’ for you, lovie, but dancin’ attendance.”

At that, she began to act most curiously, stepping to the right and pointing a toe, stepping to the left and pointing a toe; setting down one heel, setting down the other; then taking a waltzing turn.

“Oh!” said Gwendolyn, understanding. (For dancing attendance was precisely what Jane was doing!) After observing the other’s antics for a moment, she tossed her head. “Well, if that’s all you want to do,” she said unconcernedly, “why, dance.”

“Yes, dance,” broke in the Man-Who-Makes-Faces, snapping his fingers. “Frolic and frisk and flounce!”

Jane obeyed. And waltzed up to the bill-board. “Say! what’s the price of that big braid?” she called—between her tortoise-shell teeth. She had spied the red coronet, and was admiring its plaited beauty.

From under those long, square brows, the little old gentleman frowned across the table at her. “I’ll quote you no prices,” he answered. “You haven’t paid me yet for your extra face.”

Jane’s reply was an impudent double-laugh. She was examining the different things on the bill-board, and hopping sillily from foot to foot.

Gwendolyn tugged gently at a coat-tail. “Can’t we run now?” she asked; “and hide?”

Boom-er-oom-er-oom!

“Sh!” warned the Man-Who-Makes-Faces, not stirring. “What was that!”

“I don’t know.”

Both held their breath. And Gwendolyn took a more firm hold of the lip-case.

After a moment the little old gentleman began to speak very low: “We shan’t be able to steal away. She’s watching us out of the back of her head!”

“Yes. I can see ’em shine!”

“I believe that when she rolled her eyes from one face to the other it made that rumbley sound.”

“Scares me,” whispered Gwendolyn.

“Ump!” he grunted. “Ought to cheer you up. For it’s my opinion that her eyes rumble because her head’s empty.”

“If it was hollow I think I’d know,” she answered doubtfully. “You see she’s been my nurse a long time. But—would it help?”

“Find out,” he advised. “And if it’s a fact, your mother ought to know.”

Boom-er-oom-er-oom!

Gwendolyn, watching, saw two shining spots in Jane’s back face grow suddenly small—to the size of glinting pin-points; then disappear. The nurse turned, and came dancing back.

“You’d better let me have that braid, old man,” she cried rudely.

“I’ll smooth down your saucy tongue,” he threatened.

“Tee! hee! hee! hee!” she tittered. “Ha! ha! ha!”

Gwendolyn had heard her laugh before. But it was the first time she had seen her laugh. The Man-Who-Makes-Faces, too. Now, at the same moment, both witnessed an extraordinary thing: As Jane chuckled, she lifted one stout arm so that a black sateen cuff was close to the mouth of the front face. And holding it there, actually laughed in her sleeve!