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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.