FullReads

Gwendolyn’s mother now began to admire the poke, turning it around, at the same time tilting her head to one side,—this very like the Bird! She fingered the lace, and picked at the ribbon. Then, having viewed it from every angle, she opened it—as if to put it on.

There was a bounce and a piercing squeal. Then over the rim of the poke, with a thump as it hit the roadway, shot a small black-and-white pig.

She dropped the poke and sprang back, frightened. And as the porker cut away among the trees, she wheeled, caught sight of Gwendolyn, and suddenly opened her arms.

With a cry, Gwendolyn flung herself forward. No need now to fear harming an elegant dress, or roughing carefully arranged hair. “Moth-er!” She clasped her mother’s neck, pressing a wet cheek against a cheek of satin.

“Oh, my baby! My baby!—Look at mother!”

“I am looking at you,” answered Gwendolyn, half sobbing and half laughing. “I’ve looked at you for a long time. ‘Cause I love you so I love you!”

The next moment the Man-Who-Makes-Faces dashed suddenly aside—to a nearby flower-bordered square of packed ground over which, blazing with lights, hung one huge tree. Under the tree was a high, broad bill-board, a squat stool, and two short-legged tables. The little old gentleman began to bang his furniture about excitedly.

“The tables are turned!” he shouted. “The tables are turned!”

“Of course the tables are turned,” said Gwendolyn; “but what diff’rence’ll that make?”

“Difference?” he repeated, tearing back; “it means that from now on everything’s going to be exactly opposite to what it has been.”

“Oo! Goody!” Then lifting a puzzled face. “But why didn’t you turn the tables at first? And why didn’t we stay here? My moth-er was here all the time. And—”

The Man-Who-Makes-Faces regarded her solemnly. “Suppose we hadn’t gone around,” he said. “Just suppose.” Before her, in a line, were They, the Doctor, the Policeman, Puffy and the Bird. He indicated them by a nod.

She nodded too, comprehending.

“But now,” went on the little old gentleman, “we must all absquatulate.” He took her hand.

“Oh, must you?” she asked regretfully. Absquatulate was a big word, but she understood it, having come across it one day in the Dictionary.

“Good-by.” He leaned down. And she saw that his round black eyes were clouded, while his square brush-like brows were working with the effort of keeping back his tears. “Good-by!” He stepped back out of the waiting line, turned, and made off slowly, turning the crank of the hand-organ as he went.

Now the voices of They spoke up. “We also bid you good-night,” They said politely. “We shall have to go. People must hear about this.” And shoulder to shoulder They wheeled and followed the little old gentleman.

“But my Puffy!” said Gwendolyn. “I’d like to keep him. I don’t care if he is shabby.”

For answer there was a crackling and crashing in the underbrush, as if some heavy-footed animal were lumbering away.

“I think,” explained her father, “that he’s gone to make some poor little boy very happy.”

“Oh, the Rich Little Poor Boy, I guess,” said Gwendolyn, contented.

The Bird was just in front of her. He looked very handsome and bright as he flirted his rudder saucily, and darted, now up, now down. Presently, he began to sing—a glad, clear song. And singing, rose into the air.

“Oh!” she breathed. “He’s happy ’cause he got that salt off his tail.” When she looked again at the line, the Policeman was nowhere to be seen. “Doctor!”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you go.”

“The Doctor is right here,” said her mother, soothingly.

Gwendolyn smiled. And put one hand in the clasp of her mother’s, the other in a bigger grasp.

“Tired out—all tired out,” murmured her father.

She was sleepy, too—almost past the keeping open of her gray eyes. “Long as you both are with me,” she whispered, “I wouldn’t mind if I was back in the nursery.”

The glow that filled the Land now seemed suddenly to soften. The clustered tapers had lessened—to a single chandelier of four globes. Next, the forest trees began to flatten, and take on the appearance of a conventional pattern. The grass became rug-like in smoothness. The sky squared itself to the proportions of a ceiling.

There was no mistaking the change at hand!