 Chapter 9 of THE POUR LITTLE-RICHE GIRL. Bobbing and swaying foolishly, the nursemaid shuffled to her feet, and Gwendolyn, though she wanted to turn and flee beyond the reach of those big clutching hands, found herself rooted to the ground, and could only stand and stare helplessly. The man who makes faces stepped to her side hastily. His look was perturbed. My, my! he exclaimed under his breath. She's worse than I thought. Much worse. With a little gasp of relief at having him so near, Gwendolyn slipped her trembling fingers into his. She's worse than I thought! she managed to whisper back. Neither was given a chance to say more. Before seeing them thus, hand in hand, Jane suddenly started forward, with a great boisterous hop and skip. Her front face was distorted with a jealous scowl. She gave Gwendolyn a rough, side-wise shove. Get away from that old beggar! She commanded harshly. Why? He'll kidnap you! Look at his knife! Nimbly the little old gentleman thrust himself in front of her, barring her way and shielding Gwendolyn. Who told you where she was? He asked angrily. Who? mocked Jane impudently. Well, who is it that tells people things? You mean the bird? Jane's front face broke into a pleased grin. I mean the bird! She bragged, and balanced from foot to foot. Gwendolyn, peeking round at her, of a sudden felt a fresh concern. The bird! The same bird that had repeated tales against her father! And now he was tattling on her! She saw all her hopes of finding her parents, all her happy plans, in danger of being blighted. 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 Royal 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, because 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 doing for you, lovey, but dance in 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 unconsertedly, why, dance! Yes, dance! broke in the man who makes faces, snapping his fingers. Frolick and frisk and frounce! Jane obeyed, and waltzed up to the billboard. 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 billboard, and hopping sillyly from foot to foot. Jane tugged gently at a coattail. Can't we run now? She asked, and hide? Boomeroo-meroo. 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. Gwendolyn shan't be able to steal away. She's watching us out of the back of her head. Yes, I can see him shine. I believe that when she rolled her eyes from one face to the other, it made that rumbly sound. Scares me, whispered Gwendolyn. Ump! He grunted. Aught to cheer you up, for it's my opinion that her eyes rumble because her heads 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. Bomerummerum. Gwendolyn, watching, saw two shining spots in Jane's back face grow suddenly small, to the size of glinting pinpoints, 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. Ho ho ho! 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 at her sleeve, laughed at her sleeve, and a great deal more. For with each chuckle, from the top of her red head to her very feet, she grew a trifle more plump. The little old gentleman warned her with one long finger. You look out, young lady, said he. One of these days you'll laugh on the other side of your face. Which made Gwendolyn wish that it was not impolite to correct those older than herself, for it was plain that he meant, you'll laugh on your other face. Jane put out a tongue-tip at him insolently, then, dancing near, Come, she bade Gwendolyn, come away with nurse. The man who makes faces made no effort to interpose, but he wagged his head significantly. It's evident, Miss Jane, said he, that you've forgotten all about the Piper. She came short, and showed herself upset by what he had said, for she did a hop-shot-ish. He was not slow to take advantage. We're sure to see him shortly, he went on, and when we do, because your account with him is adding up terrifically, you're dancing a good deal, you know. How can I help that, demanded Jane, ain't I dancing a tin? Gwendolyn forgot to listen to the remainder of the sentence. All at once she was a little apprehensive on her own account, remembering how she had danced beside the soda-water, not half an hour before. Mr. Man who makes faces, she began timidly, do you mean the Piper that everybody has to pay? Exactly, replied the little old gentleman. He's out collecting some pay for me now, from a dishonest fellow who didn't settle for two dozen ears that I boxed, and sent him. At that Jane began tittering harder than ever, hysterically this time, holding up her arm as before, and filling out two or three wrinkles in the black sateen. Gwendolyn, watching closely, saw that while the front face of her nurse was all a grin, the face on the back of her head were a nervous expression. Evidently, that front face was not always to be depended upon. The little old gentleman also remarked the nervous expression, and followed up the advantage already won. Now, said he, perhaps you'll be willing to come along quietly. You're just starting, you understand. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Gwendolyn glanced in the direction he pointed, and saw, for the first time, that a wide, smooth road led away from the face-shop, a road as wide and smooth and curving as the drive. Like the drive it was well-lighted on either side, but lighted low down, by a row of tiny electric bulbs with frosted shades, each resembling an incandescent toadstool. She remembered having once caught a glimpse of something similar in a store window. These tiny lamps were set close together on short stems, precisely as white stones of a selected size edged all the paths at Johnny Blake's, and each gave out a soft light. She did not have to ask about them. She guessed promptly what they were. Lights to make plain the way for people's feet. In short, nothing more nor less than footlights. A few times in her life, so few that she could tell them off on her pink fingers, she had been taken to the theatre. Jane accompanying her by rite of nursemaid. Miss Royal by her superior rite, as judge of all matters that partook of entertainment. Thomas coming also, though apparently for no reason whatever, to grace a rear seat along with the chauffeur. Seated in a box, close to the curved edge of the stage, she had seen the soft glow of the footlights, but for some reason, which she could not fathom, the footlights had always been carefully concealed from everyone but the people on the stage. Trying to imagine them without any suggestions from Miss Royal or Jane, she had patterned them after a certain stuffed slipper cushion that stood on Jane's dressing table. How different was the reality, and how much more satisfactory? Jane looked up the road between the lines of footlights. You're just starting, she repeated. Where? To find her father and mother, answered the man who makes faces stoutly. At that Jane shook her huge pompadour. Father and mother, she cried, indeed you won't, not while I'm a-taking care of her, and reaching out, caught Gwendolyn by a slender wrist. The man who makes faces seized the other, and the next moment Gwendolyn was unpleasantly reminded of times in the nursery, times when Miss Royal and Jane disagreeing about her, each pulled at an arm and quarreled. For here was the nurse, tugging one direction to drag her away, and the little old gentleman tugging the other with all his might. Slap her hands! Slap her hands! He shouted excitedly. It'll start circulation. Both slapped, so hard that her hands stung. And with the result he sought. For instantly all three began going in circles, around and around, faster and faster and faster. It was Jane who first let go. She was puffing hard, and the perspiration was standing out upon her forehead. I'm going to call the policeman! She threatened shrilly. Oh! Oh! Please don't! Gwendolyn's cry was a shrill. I don't want him to get me! Call the policeman, then, retorted the man who makes faces, and to Gwendolyn soothingly, hush, hush, child. Jane danced away, sidewise, as if to keep watch as she went. Help! Help! she shouted. Police! Police! Police! Gwendolyn was terribly frightened, but she could not run. One wrist was still in the grasp of the little old gentleman. With wildly throbbing heart she watched the road. Is he coming? Called the little old gentleman. He, too, was looking up the curving road. A whistle sounded. It was long drawn, piercing. And now Gwendolyn heard movements all about her in the forest, the soft pad-pad of running paws, the hushing sound of wings, as if small live things were fleeing before the sharp call. Jane hastened back, galloping a polka. Turn a stone! Turn a stone! she cried, rumbling her eyes. Gwendolyn clung to the old gentleman. Oh! Don't let her! she pleaded. What if— We must! Will a pebble-size do? yelled Jane excitedly. Yes, yes! answered the man who makes faces. You've seen stones and rings, haven't you? Aren't they pebble-size? The nurse stooped, picked up a small stone, and sent it spinning from the end of a thumb. Faint with fear, Gwendolyn thrust a trembling hand into the patch-pocket, and took hold of the lip-case. Leaning against the little old gentleman, her yellow head half concealed by the dusty flap of his torn coat, she waited. End of chapter 9 CHAPTER X OF THE POUR LITTLE-RICHE GIRL This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. SUSAN UMPLEBEE THE POUR LITTLE-RICHE GIRL By Eleanor Gates CHAPTER X What she first saw was a face. Straight ahead, at the top of a steep rise, were the wide road narrowed to a point. The face was a man's, and upon it the foot-lights beat so strongly that each feature was startlingly vivid. But it was not the fact that she saw only a face that set her knees to trembling weakly, nor the fact that the face was fearfully distorted, but because it was upside down. She stared, feeling herself grow cold, her flesh creep. Oh! I want to go home! She gasped. The face began to move nearer, slowly, inch by inch, and there sounded a horse-out-cry. Ho-ho! Ho-ho! It was a little old gentleman who reassured her somewhat by his even voice. Ah! said he with something of pride, yet as if to himself. He realizes that the black eye is a beauty, and I shouldn't wonder if he isn't coming to match it. But what temporary confidence she gained fled when Jane, teetering from side to side, began to threaten in a most terrifying way. Now, young miss, she cried, now you're going to be sorry you didn't mind Jane. Oh! I told you he'd get you some fine day. The man who makes faces retorted, what Gwendolyn did not hear. She was sick with apprehension. I guess I won't find my father and mother now. She whispered miserably. Then, all at once, she could see more than a face. Silhouetted against the lighted sky was a figure, broad shouldered and belted, with swinging cudgel and visor'd cap. It was like those dreaded figures that patrolled the drive. Yet how different! For as the policeman came on, his wild face peered between his coattails, peered between his coattails for the reason that he was upside down, and walking on his hands. Ho-ho! Ho-ho! he clamber'd again. His coat flopped about his ears. His natural merino socks showed where his trousers fell away from his shoes. His club bumped the side of his head at every stride of his long blue-clad arms. His identification was complete. For precisely as Thomas had declared, he was heels overhead. My! breathe, Gwendolyn, so astonished that she almost forgot to be anxious for her own safety. What a marvellous land was this, where everything was really as it ought to be! The man who makes faces addressed her, smiling down. You won't mind if we don't start for a minute or two, will you? he inquired. This officer will probably want to discuss the prices of eyes. You see, I gave him his black one. If he wants another, though, I shall be obliged to ask the piper to collect. Aren't you afraid of him? stammered Gwendolyn in a whisper. Afraid, he echoed, surprised. Why, no, are you? Somehow she felt ashamed. Not very, she faltered. No sooner did she partly deny her fear than she experienced a most delicious feeling of security. And this feeling grew as she watched the nearing policeman, for she saw that he was in a mournful state. It was worry and grief that distorted his face. The dark eyes above the visor, both the black eye and the other one, were streaming with tears. There's which, naturally enough, ran from the four corners of his eyes, down across his forehead, and on into his hair. And it was evident that he had been weeping for a long time, for his cap was full. And now she realized that the horse cries which had filled her with terror were the saddest of complaints. Were not hoo-hoo, but boo-hoo, poor man, sympathized the little old gentleman wagging his beard. Jane, however, with characteristic lack of compassion, hopped about, tea-heeing loudly, and straightening out any number of wrinkles. Oh, ain't he a sight, she chortled. She had entirely given over her threatening. Jane now felt secure enough, but she did not feel like laughing. She was sober to the point of pitying. For though he looked ridiculous, he was so absolutely helpless, so utterly unhappy. Oh, dear, oh, dear! He exclaimed as he came on, hand over hand, legs held together and swaying from side to side rhythmically, like the pendulum of the metronome. What shall I do? What shall I do? Need any sharpening? Called out the man who makes faces, brandishing the curved knife. Is there something wrong? Wrong! Echoed the policeman dolefully. I should say so. Oh, dear, oh, dear! And still weeping copiously, so that his forehead glistened with his tears, he plotted across the border of the face-shop. It was then that Gwendolyn recalled under what circumstances she had seen him last. Only two or three days before, when bound homeward in the limousine, she had spied him loitering beside the walled walk. What makes his club shine so? She had asked Jane, whispering, Eh? whispered Jane in return. What else, then, blood? The wind was blowing as the automobile swept past him. The breeze lifted the tail of his belted coat, and for one terrifying instant Gwendolyn caught a glimpse of steel. And if he don't mean harm to anybody, Jane had added, when Gwendolyn turned scared eyes to her, why does he carry a pistol? But there was no need to fear a weapon now. The falling away of his coat-tails had uncovered his trouser pockets, and as he halted, Jane saw that his revolver was gone, his pistol-pocket empty. She took a timid step toward him. How do you do, Mr. Officer? She said. Can't you let your feet come down? Then you'd be on your back, and you could get up the right way. Up came his face between his coat-tails. He stared at her with his new black eye, with the other one, too. She noted that it was blue. I am the right way. He answered, Oh no, it isn't that, it isn't that. His hands were encased in white cotton gloves. He rocked himself from one to the other. No, it isn't that, agreed the little old gentleman, but I firmly believe that you'd feel better if you'd order another eye. Said the policeman bitterly. Would another eye help me to find him? Oh, I see. The man who makes faces spoke with some concern. Then he's flown. Gwendolyn puzzled, glanced from one to the other. Who is he? She asked. The policeman bumped his head against his night-stick. The bird, he mourned. At that Jane hopped up and down in evident delight. But Gwendolyn fell back, taking up a position beside the little old gentleman. That bird again! And it was evident that the policeman thought well of him. Pity swiftly merged into suspicion. I suppose you mean the bird that tells people things. She ventured, to be sure that she was not misjudging him. He wiped his black eye on a coat-tail. Eye, he answered, that's the one. And oh, but he could tell you things. Gwendolyn considered the statement. At last, He's a tattle-tail, she charged, and felt her cheeks crimson with sudden anger. He nodded so vigorously that some of his tears splashed over the rim of his cap. That's why the police can't get along without him. He declared, and oh, here I've gone and lost him. And they'll put me off the force. Bump, bump, bump. They, she questioned, do you mean the soda-water they? And they know so much, explained the little old gentleman, because the bird tells him. He tells them everything, grumbled the officer. They send him around the whole country, hunting gossip, when he ought to be working exclusively in the interest of law and order. Law and order. Gwendolyn wondered who these two were. He knows everything I do, asserted the policeman, and everything she does. Here he jerked his head side-wise at Jane. She retreated, an expression of guilt on that front face. And everything you do, he went on, indicating Gwendolyn. I know that, she said in an injured tone. He told Jane I was here. At that the policeman gave himself a quick half-turn. You've seen him? He demanded of the nurse. She shifted from side to side nervously. It ain't the same one, she protested. It, he interrupted. You couldn't be mistaken, he declared. Did he have a bumpy forehead and a lumpy tail? You don't mean a lump of salt, said Gwendolyn, astonished. He does, said the little old gentleman. And the bumpy forehead is from having to remember so many things. She heaved a sigh of relief. Well, I think I'd like that bird, she said. And I don't believe he's far, because when you whistled, I heard flying. Running and flying, corrected the policeman. Running and flying to me, he said it proudly. The squirrels and the robin-red breasts and the sparrows all follow me here from the park of a night, knowing I protect them. Oh, murmured Gwendolyn, you protect them? She looked side-wise at Jane, reflecting that the nurse had given him quite another character. Yes, and I protect old, old people. Ha! snorted the man who makes faces. You protect old people, eh? Well, how about old organ-grinders? You ought to know, answered the officer promptly, I guess you didn't give me that black eye for nothing. Where at the little old gentleman suddenly subsided into silence? Yes, I protect old people, reiterated the other, and the blind, of course, and the trees, and the flowers, and the fountains. Also, the statues. There's the general, for instance. If I didn't watch out, folks would scribble on him with chalk. Gwendolyn assented. Once more, she was beginning to have belief in him. Then, he resumed, I look after the children so that… She started. The children? He? But she interrupted. Jane's always told me that you grab little boys and girls and carry them off. Then fairly shook at her own boldness. I never denied Jane sullenly. He laughed. I do carry them off, but where? I don't know, in a flutter. Tell her, urged the little old gentleman. The policeman leaned his feet against the billboard. I'm the man, said he, that takes lost little kids to their fathers and mothers. To their fathers and mothers? Gwendolyn came round upon Jane, lifting accusing eyes, pointing an accusing finger. So she breathed. You told me he stole them. It isn't true. And she wiggled the finger. Jane edged away, head on one side. Oh, I was joking you, she declared lightly. But accidentally, she turned aside her grinning front face and gave the others a glimpse of the back one. And each noted how the square mouth was trembling with anxiety. Aha! exclaimed Gwendolyn triumphantly. I'm finding you out! The policeman crossed his feet against the billboard, taking care not to injure any of the articles there displayed. Yes, I've taken a lot of lost little kids to their fathers and mothers, he repeated. And I was just wondering if you— She gave him no chance to finish his sentence. In her joy at finding that here was another friend, she ran to him and leaned to smile into his face. You'll help me find my father and mother, won't you? she cried. Certainly. We were starting, just as you came, said the man who makes faces. Well, let's be off. His whistle hung by a thin chain from a buttonhole of his coat. He swung it to his lips. Toot toot! It was a cheery blast. The next moment, coming as it were on the heels of her sudden good fortune, Gwendolyn closed her right hand and found herself possessed of a bag of candy, red and white stick candy of the variety that she had often seen selling at street corners, out of showcases that went on wheels. More than once she had longed and in vain to stop at one of these showcases in purchase. Now she suddenly remembered having done so with a high hand. The sticks were striped spirally. Boldly she produced one and fell to sucking it, making more noise with her sucking than ever the strict proprieties of the nursery permitted. Then, candy in hand, and with the little old gentleman on her right, the policeman on her left, and Jane trailing behind, doing a one, two, three and point, she set forward gaily along the wide curving road. End of chapter 10 CHAPTER 11 OF THE POUR LITTLE RITCH GIRL This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Susan Humpleby. THE POUR LITTLE RITCH GIRL by Eleanor Gates CHAPTER 11 As she trotted along, pulling with great relish at a candy-stick, she glanced down at the policeman every now and then, and glowed with pride. On some few well-remembered occasions, her chauffeur had condescended to hold a short conversation with her, had even permitted her to sound the clarion of the limousine with its bright piercing tones. All of which had been keenly gratifying. But here she was, actually conversing with an officer in full uniform, and on terms of perfect equality. She proffered him the bag of spiral sweets. He cocked his head sidewise at it. Is that the chewing kind? He inquired. Oh! I'm sorry! However, he did not seem in the least disappointed, for he had a mouthful of gum, and this he cracked loudly from time to time, in a way that excited her admiration and envy. I've watched you go by our house lots of times, she confided presently, eager to say something cordial. Oh! said he. It's a beat that does well enough in summer, but in the winter time I'd rather be downtown. Puffing a little, for though he was upside down and walking on his hands, he had so far made good progress, he halted, and rested his feet against the lowest limb of a tree that stood close to the road. Now his cap touched the ground, and his hands were free. With one white-gloved finger he drew three short lines in the packed dirt. And you ought to be downtown! declared the little old gentleman, halting too, because you're a policeman with a level head. A level head? Gwendolyn stooped to look, and saw that it was indeed a fact. If I hadn't, one, answered the policeman with dignity, would I be able to stand up comfortably in this remarkable manner? Oh, tea! It was the nurse. Her sleeve lifted, her blousy face convulsed. As she left, Gwendolyn saw wrinkle after wrinkle in the black sateen taken up, with truly alarming rapidity. My! she exclaimed. Jane's always been stout, but now! The policeman was deepening the three short lines in the dirt, making a capital A. Two streets come together, he said, placing his finger on the point of the letter. And the block that connects them just before they meet, that's the beat for me. I hope you'll get it, she said heartily. Get it! he repeated bitterly. Well, I certainly won't if I don't find that bird. And he started forward once more. The man who makes faces, trudging alongside, crane to peer ahead, his grizzled beard sticking straight out in front of him. Now, let me see! He mused in a puzzled way. Which route, I wonder, had we better take? That depends on where we're going, replied the policeman helplessly. And with the bird gone, of course, I don't know. I'll tell you," said the little old gentleman promptly. First, we must cross the glass. Gwyndolin gave him a quick glance. Surely he meant cross the grass. Yes, the glass. Go on," encouraged the officer, and find him. Those round dark eyes darted a quick glance at Gwyndolin. Jane, capering at his heels, now interrupted. Find him," she taunted. Gwyndolin'll never find her father if she don't listen to me. He ignored her. Next, he went on. We'll steer straight for Robin Hood's barn. Oh! exclaimed the policeman. Then we have to go around. Everybody has to go around. Once more Jane broke in. Gwyndolin, she called. You'll never find your mother. This precious pair has taken you the wrong way. Gwyndolin paid no heed. Ahead the road divided, to the left in a narrow bridal path, all loose soil and hoof prints, and sharp turns, to the right in a level thoroughfare that held a straight course. She touched the little old gentleman's elbow. Much, she whispered. As the parting of the ways was reached, he pointed, and she saw a sign. A sign with an arrow directing travellers to the right. Under the arrow, plainly lettered, were the words, To the bear's den. Gwyndolin looked her concern. Do we have to go that road? She asked him. He nodded. The next moment, with a loud rumbling of the eyes, Jane came alongside. Oh, dearie, she cried. You couldn't hire me to go, and I wouldn't like to see you go. I think too much of you. I do indeed. Hold your tongue, ordered the little old gentleman crossly. Jane obeyed. Up came a hand, and she seized the tongue tip in her front mouth. But since there was a second tongue tip in that back face, she still continued her babbling. Don't ask me to traipse over the hard pavements on my poor, tired feet, dearie. Just because you take your notions. Come, I say. Your mother's nobody anyhow. You don't know what you're saying, or doing, poor thing. You're just wandering, that's all. Just wandering. I'm wandering in the right direction anyhow, retorted Gwyndolin stoutly. And to the little old gentleman, I'm sorry we're going this way, though. I'm afraid of bears. For the sign was passed now. The four were on the level thoroughfare. The policeman seemed not to have remarked her anxiety. And after the den, what do we pass? He questioned. The big rock answered the man who makes faces. Do we have to turn it? The other spoke with some annoyance. What's likely to come out? I suppose it won't be hiding that bird. There's a hollow under the rock, said the little old gentleman. We'll find something. His face grew grave. And after we go by the big rock, ventured Gwyndolin, the little old gentleman smiled. Ah, then, he said. Then we come to the pillory. Oh, she considered the reply. Pillory. It was a word she had never chanced upon in the large dictionary. Yet she felt she could hardly ask any questions about it. She had asked so many already. It's kind of you to answer and answer and answer, she said aloud. Nobody else ever did that. Ask anything you want to know. He returned cordially. I'll always give you prompt attention. Though, of course, there are some things. He hesitated. Yes, eagerly. That only fathers and mothers can answer. Oh! Didn't you know that? Demanded the policeman, surprised. Tee-hee! Snickered Jane. She was some few steps in the rear. Her difficult breathing could be plainly heard. She had laughed so much into her sleeve and had grown so stout that by now not a single wrinkle remained in the black sateen. Worse, she was beginning to try every square inch of the cloth sorely. And having danced every foot of the way, she was tiring. Oh! Father and mother questions, said Gwendolyn. Precisely, answered the little old gentleman, about my friends, Santa Claus, and the Sandmen, for instance. They're not friends of potters, I guess, because he— and the fairies, and the gnomes, and the giants, and Mother Goose, and her crowd. Of course, a nurse, or a governess, or a teacher of some sort might try to explain. Wouldn't do any good, though. You wouldn't understand. The policeman swung his head back and forth, nodding. That's the worst, said he, of being a poor— Here he fell suddenly silent, and spattered the dust with his palms in an embarrassed way. She understood. A poor little rich girl, she said, who doesn't see her father and mother. But you will, he declared determinately, and forged ahead faster than ever, white hand following white hand. It was then that Gwendolyn heard the nurse muttering and chortling to herself. Well, I never exclaimed the tongue-tip that was not being held. If this ain't an automobile road, why, it's a fine automobile road. Ha, ha, ha! That makes a difference. Gwendolyn was startled. What did Jane mean? What difference? Why so much satisfaction all at once? She wished the others would listen, would take note of the triumphant air. But both were busy, little old gentleman chattering and pointing ahead, the policeman straining to keep pace and look where his companion directed. To lessen her uneasiness, Gwendolyn hunted a second stick of candy, then sidled in between her two friends. Oh, please! she began appealingly, with a glance up and a glance down. I'm afraid Jane's going to make us trouble. Can't we think of some way to get rid of her? The policeman twisted his neck around until he could wink at her with his black eye. In town, he said meaningly, we policemen have a way. Oh, tell us, she begged, for the man who makes faces looked keenly interested. Well, resumed the officer, and now he halted just long enough to raise a gloved finger to one side of his head with a significant gesture. When we want to get rid of a person, we put a flea in his ear. Gwendolyn blushed rosy. A flea! It was an insect that Miss Royal had never permitted her to mention. Still, but where could we 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 trimming with laughter. Who will help her? demanded Gwendolyn. Nobody, so one of that three is gone for good. She halted now, on the summit of her eyes. 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, darling! She called weepingly. Oh, don't leave your Jane! Oh, oh! I've made up my mind, announced Gwendolyn, to have the nurse made in the brick house, so good-bye, good-bye! She began to descend rapidly, with a 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 born to the waiting trio a sound of chugging. And the next instant, with a purr of its engine and a whir 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-yes. At the mention of the Piper, the policeman stared up. The P-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. The man who makes faces hastened to him and halted him by grasping him about his fast-swaying legs. You can't run away from the Piper! He reminded. So... Gwendolyn was no longer frightened. In her search for money she had found the gold-mounted leather case. This she now clutched, receiving courage from the stiff upper lip. But the policeman was far from sanguine. Now perspiration and not tears glistened on his forehead. He grasped his club with one shaking hand. As for the little old gentleman, he held the curved knife out in front of him. All his thin fingers wound tightly around its hilt. What's the Piper got beside him? He asked in a tone full of wonder. Is it a rubber-plant? Gwendolyn looked. The Piper was leaning over the steering-wheel of the car. He was so near by now that she could make him out clearly. A lanky, lean-jawed young man in a greasy cap and Johnny Blake overalls. Over his right shoulder on a strap was suspended a bundle. A tobacco-pipe hung from a corner of his mouth. But it was evidently not this pipe that had given him his title, but pipes of a different kind, all of lead in varying lengths. These were arranged about his waist, somewhat like a long and even fringe, and among them was a pipe wrench, a coupling or two, and a cutter. Beside him on the seat, in the footman's place was a queer object. It was tall and dark blue in color, or was it green? On one side of it were what seemed to be seven long leaves. On the other side were seven similar leaves, and as the car rolled swiftly up, these fourteen long leaf-like projections waved gently. She had no chance to examine the object further. Something else claimed her attention. The window-door of the limousine only swung wide, and through it, toward her, was extended a long black beckoning arm. Next a freckled face filled the hole of the opening, spying this way and that. It was Jane. Come, dearie, she could. She had let go of the front-tongue tip. I wouldn't stay with them, too, any more. Here's your beautiful car, love. This is what'll take you fast to your papa and mama. No! cried Gwendolyn, and to the man who makes faces. She was afraid of the piper just a little while ago. Now she's riding around with him. I think he's— Sh! warned the little old gentleman, speaking low. We have to have him. And he has his good points. The piper was staring at Gwendolyn impertently. Now he climbed down from his seat all his pipes tinkling and tankling as he moved, and gave her a mocking salute, quite as if he knew her, yet without removing the tobacco pipe from between his lips or the greasy cap from his hair. Well, if here ain't the PLRG! He exclaimed rudely. As she got a better view of him, she remembered that she had met him before. The nursery—that fortunate morning the hot water pipe burst. He was the very piper that had been called in to make plumbing repairs. Good evening! said Gwendolyn, nodding courteously, but staying close to the little old gentleman. For Jane had summoned strength enough to topple out of the limousine and teeter forward. Now she was kneeling in the road, croaking a coaxing finger and gurgling invitingly. The piper scowled at the nurse. Say, what do you think you're doing? he demanded, singing a duet with yourself. Then turning upon the policeman. Off your beat, ain't you? he inquired impudently. When, without waiting for an answer, he swung round upon the man who makes faces. Old gent! he began tauntingly. I can't collect real money for that dozen ears. And threw out an arm toward the object on the driver's seat. Gwendolyn looked a second time and saw a horrid and a natural sight. For the object was a man, straight enough, broad-shouldered enough, with arms and legs, feet and hands, and a small head. But a man shockingly disfigured. For down either side of him, projecting from head and shoulders and arms, were ears, long, hairy, mule-ish ears that wriggled horribly, one moment unfolding themselves to catch every sound, the next flopping about ridiculously. Why, he's all ears, she gasped. The little old gentleman started forward. It's that dozen I boxed, he announced. Hey, come out of there! Gwendolyn's heart sank. Now she knew. From the first her fear had been that one of the dreaded three would come and fetch her out of the land before she could find her parents. And here, at the very moment when she hoped to leave the worst of the trio behind, here was another, to hamper and tattle and thwart. For the rubber-plant was Thomas. And now, all at once, there was the greatest excitement. The man who makes faces seized Thomas by an ear and dragged him to the ground, all the while upbraiding him loudly. And while these two were occupied, the piper swaggered toward the policeman, his pipes and implements striking and jangling together. I want my money, he bellowed. Why don't owe you anything? retorted the policeman. All this gave Jane the opportunity she wished. She advanced upon Gwendolyn. Come, sweetie, she weedled. Rich little girls don't hike along the streets like common poor little girls. So jump in and pretend you're a queen and have a grand ride. Now, all of a sudden, a terrible inclination to obey seized Gwendolyn. There yawned that door. Here burned those reddish eyes, compelling her forward into a dreaded grasp. She screamed, covering her face. In that moment of danger, it was the policeman who came to her rescue. Eluding the piper, he ran, hand over hand to the side of the car, balanced himself on his level head and waved his club. Move on! he ordered in a deep voice, precisely as Gwendolyn had heard officers order at crowded crossings. Move on there! The limousine obeyed. With no one touching the steering gear, the engine began to chug, the wheels to whir. And purring again, like some great good-natured live thing, it gained momentum, took the road in a cloud of pink dust and, rounding a distant turn, disappeared from sight. End of Chapter 11 CHAPTER XII OF THE POUR LITTLE RITCH GIRL This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Susan Umpleby THE POUR LITTLE RITCH GIRL CHAPTER XII It occurred to Gwendolyn that it would be a very good idea to stop turning stones. The first one set bottom side up had resulted in the arrival of Jane. And whereas the policeman had appeared when the second was dislodged, here, following the accidental stub of a toe, were these two, the Piper and Thomas. The man who makes faces hurried across to her his expression dubious. "'Bitter pill!' he exclaimed, with a side-wise jerk of the ragged hat. "'Gall and wormwood!' "'Oh, yes!' For sure enough, there was an ill-flavored taste on her lips, a taste that made her regret having lost the candy. Next the policeman came tick-talking up. "'The scheme was to kidnap you!' he declared wrathfully. "'And keep me from finding my father and mother!' added Gwendolyn. Now she understood why Jane was so pleased with the choice of the automobile road. And she realized that all along there was never any danger of her being kidnapped by strangers. But by the two who, their past ill-feeling evidently forgotten, were at this very moment chuckling and chattering together, ugly heads touching. He had, and the head with the double face. Seeing the policeman and the little old gentleman in conversation with Gwendolyn, the piper slouched over. "'Looka here!' he began roughly, addressing all three. "'You're going to make a great big mistake if you antagonize a man that belongs to a labor union!' Just so had he spoken the day he fixed the broken hot-water pipe. "'Bosh!' cried the policeman. "'What do we care about him?' "'Why? He'll never even get through the gate!' Gwendolyn was puzzled. "'What gate?' "'And why would Thomas not get through it?' Then, looking round to where he was conspiring with Jane, she saw what she believed was a very good explanation. He would never get through the gate because, a simple reason, the nurse would not be able to get through. For by now, Jane was not only as round as a barrel, but she was fully as large, what with so much happy giggling over Thomas' arrival. Moreover, having toppled sideways, she looked like a barrel, a barrel upholstered in black satine with a neat touch of white at collar and cuffs. "'He's been in trouble before!' continued the policeman stormily. "'But this time!' And, letting himself down flat upon his head, he shook both neatly shod feet in the piper's face. It was now that Gwendolyn chanced for the first time to examine the latter's bundle, and was surprised to discover that it was nothing less than a large poke-bonnet of the fluffy, lacy, ribbony sort. And she was admiring it for it was of black silk and handsome when something within it stirred. She retreated until the night-stick and the kidnapper-knife were between her and the poke. "'Haven't we better be starting?' she faltered nervously. The piper marked her manner and showed instant resentment of it. "'This here thing was handed me once in part payment,' he explained, and was unable to get rid of it since. Every single day it's harder to lug around, because, you see, he's growing.' At that the policeman and the man who makes faces exchanged a glance full of significance and both shrugged. The policeman was such an emphatic upside down shrug that his shoulders brushed the ground. Gwendolyn's curiosity emboldened her. He, she questioned, the pig. The pig! Gwendolyn's pink mouth opened in amazement. Here was the very pig that she heard be longed in a poke. The piper was glowering at Jane, who was rocking gently from side to side displaying first one face then the other. Well, I call that dancing, he declared, and pulling out a small, well-thumbed account book jotted down some figures. Gwendolyn tried to think of something to say, while feeling mistrust toward the piper and abhorrence toward the poke in its contents. At last she took refuge in polite inquiry. When did you come out from town? she asked. The piper grunted rather ill-humoredly, or was it the pig? He did not be certain, and colored up a little. I didn't come out, he answered in his surly fashion, whereupon he felt a fitting a coupling upon the ends of two pipes. No, inquisitively, I got run out. Oh! Again the policeman and the man who makes faces exchanged a significant glance. You see, went on the piper, and in the city everybody's in debt. Well, I have to have my money, don't I? So I done them all good. But maybe er, expect too much, so... Oh, dear! Of course, I've never been what you might call popular. Who would be if everybody owed him money? Huh! Snorted the policeman. They were charged. Asserted the little old gentleman. Gwendolyn hastened to forestall any heated reply from the piper. You don't think your pig had anything to do with it? She suggested considerably. Because do, do nice people like pigs? The pig was never in sight. Asserted the piper. Guess that's one reason why I can't sell him. What people don't see they don't want to buy, even when it's covered up stylish. Here he regarded the poke with an expression of entire satisfaction. The little company was well on its way by now, though Gwendolyn could not recall the moment of starting. The piper had not waited to be invited, but strolled along with the others, his birch-stimped tobacco pipe in a corner of his mouth, his hands in his pockets, and the pig-poke a swing at his elbow. Thomas, left to get Jane along as best he could, had managed most ingeniously. The nurse was cylindrical. All he had to do, therefore, was to give her momentum over the smooth windings of the road by an occasional smart shove with both hands. Which made it clear that the likelihood of losing Jane, of leaving her behind, was lessening with each moment. For now, the more the nurse laughed, the easier it would be to get her along. Oh, dear! sighed Gwendolyn, with a sad shake of her yellow head, as Jane came trundling up, both fat arms folded to keep them out of the way. If she stopped dancing, where would I come in? demanded the piper resentfully. The pig moved in the poke. He trounced the poor thing irritably. The man who makes faces now began to speak in a curious chanting fashion. The mode of locomotion adapted by this woman, said he, rather adds to than detracts from her value as a nurse. Think what facility she has for amusing a child. On, say, an extensive slope of lawn, and her ability to see two ways, practically at once, gives her further value. Would she ever let a young charge fall over a cliff? The barrel was whopping over and over, noiselessly, except for the faint chatter of Jane's tortoise shell teeth. Behind it was Thomas, limp-eared by now and perspiring, but faithful to his task. The best thing, whispered Gwendolyn, reaching to touch a ragged sleeve, would be to get rid of Thomas. Then she, the policeman heard, get rid of Thomas, he repeated, easy enough, look on the ground. She looked. See the H's. Sure enough, the road was fairly strewn with the sixth consonant, both in small letters and capitals. Ben dropped, went on the officer. She had heard the expression dropping his H's, now she understood it. Oh, but how will these help? Show them to Thomas. She approached the barrel and pointed down. Thomas followed her pointing. Instantly his expression became furious, and one by one his ears stood up alertly. It's him! He shouted. Oh, wait till I get my hands on him. Then, heaving hard at the barrel, he raced off along the alphabetical trail. Gwendolyn was compelled to run to keep up with him. What's the trouble? She asked the man who makes faces. A dictionary, a difference, he answered, his dark-skinned face in a very grave. Oh! She resolved to hunt Dictionary up the moment she was back in the school room. Thomas was shouting once more from where he labored in the lead. I'll murder him! He threatened. This time, I'll murder him! Murder! That made matters clear. There was only one person who wore such hot ill will. It's the King's English, she panted. It's the King's English, agreed the policeman, tick-talking in rapid tempo. She reached again to tug gently at a ragged sleeve. Do you know him? She asked. The round black eyes of the little old gentleman shone proudly down at her. All nice people are well acquainted with the King's English, he declared, which statement she had often heard in the nursery. Now, however, it embarrassed her, for she was compelled to admit to herself that she was not acquainted with the King's English, and he a personage of such consequence. The piper hurried alongside all his pipes rattling. Just where are we going, anyhow? He asked petulently. We're going to the Bears' Den, informed the man who makes faces. And here's the zoo now, announced the policeman. It was unmistakably the zoo. Gwendolyn recognized the main entrance. For above it, in monster letters formed by electric lights was a sign, bulbous and blinding. Villa, sights, starch, shirts. So this is the gate you meant, she called to the policeman. The gate was flung invitingly wide. Thomas restored it, his fourteen ears flopping horribly. And here he is, cried the policeman, on guard. The next moment, alt, ordered a harsh voice, a voice with an English accent. There was a flash of scarlet before Gwendolyn's face. Of scarlet so vivid that it blinded, she flung up a hand. But she was not frightened. She knew what it was, and rubbed at her eyes hastily to clear them. He stood in full view. As far as outward appearance was concerned, he was exactly the looking person she had pictured in her own mind. Young and tall and lusty, with a florid countenance and hair as blond as her own. And he wore the uniform of an English soldier, short coat of scarlet, all gold braid and brass buttons, dark trousers with stripes, and a little round cap with a chin strap. But he carried no cane. Instead, as he stepped forward, nose up, chin up, eyes very bold, he swung a most amazing weapon. It was as scarlet as his own coat, as long as he was tall, and polished to a high degree. But it was not unbending like a sword. It was limber to whippiness, so that as he twirled it about his blond head, it snapped and whistled. And Gwendolyn remembered having seen others exactly like it, hanging on the billboard at the face shop, for it was a tongue. Ah, my word! exclaimed the King's English, surveying the halted group. Gwendolyn could not imagine what word he had in mind, but she thought him very fine. With his air of proud self-assurance, and his fine, brilliant uniform, he was strikingly like her own red-coated toy. Anxious to make a favourable impression upon him, she smoothed the gingham dressed hastily, whispered whispers of yellow, straightened her shoulders, and assumed a cordial expression of countenance. How do you do? she said, curtsy. He saluted, but blocked the way. May we go into the zoo, please? His hand jerked down to his side. One at a time, he answered, all but Thomas. Thomas had come short with the others. Gwendolyn looked at him, she saw that he also was armed with a tongue, a warped and twisted affair, rough but thin along its edges. If you try to keep me out, he cried, I certainly will murder you. At this juncture, the policeman pit-patted forward and took his station at the left of the gate. Next, the King's English stepped back until he stood and once more passed Gwendolyn and the man who makes faces. The Piper came next. Called that an English tongue, he asked with an impudent grin at the soldier's shining weapon. Yes, sir. Now Thomas gave Jane a quick shove forward, but a shove which sent her only as far as the gate. The King's English stared down at her. How are you? He answered coldly. I'm awful uncomfortable, was the mournful answer. Then take off your stays, he advised. Where at, the polished tongue glanced through the light, caught Jane fairly around the waist and with a swift recoil brought her to her feet. And now Gwendolyn, astonished, saw that too much laughter had again remolded that sateen bulk. Then Gwendolyn, wulfily heavy about the shoulders which put a fearful strain on the stitches of her bodice and gave her the appearance of a gigantic humming top. As she swayed a moment on her wide-toed shoes, shoes now utterly lacking buttons, the King's English again struck out, caught her this time around the neck and sent her spinning through the gate. Zing! I persisted note of a top. Thomas attempted to follow. I just will come in! He cried, wielding his warped weapon with a flourish. You shall not! To bar the way, the King's English thrust out his polished tongue. I will! Crack! Crack! You won't! Crack! Crack! The fight was on. For the combatants, together were prowling to and fro, menacingly. Oh, there's going to be a tongue-washing! cried Gwendolyn, frightened. Wham! The King's English! It was the soldier's slogan. This is me! sang Thomas, saucily flicking at a brass button. His face was all cunning. Then how the tongues popped. This is I! Corrected the King's English promptly, but his face got a trifle more florid. Steady! Counseled the little old gentleman. I'm all right! The other cried back. Oh, Piper! said Gwendolyn. Which side are you on? The Piper shifted his tobacco pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other. I'm for the man that's got the cash, he declared. There was no doubt about Jane's choice. Seeing Thomas and Gwendolyn change choice, seeing Thomas' momentary advantage, she came spinning close to the gate. Hughes H. Words! Thomas, she hummed. Hughes H. Words! Thomas acted upon her advice. Hack and hit and hammer he charged. Haggle and have and hamper. And hang and harass. Hack and hit and hammer. Struck back the King's English, beginning to breathe hard. Haggle and have and hamper. Alt and hang and harass. As the tongues met, Gwendolyn saw small, bright splinters fly this way and that, a shower of them. These splinters darted downward, falling upon the road, and each, as it lit, was an H. The policeman was frightened. Which is your best foot, he called. The King's English indicated his right. This! Then put it forward. My goodness! exclaimed Gwendolyn. Am I seeing this? Or is it just pretend? Thomas now warmed to the fray. Harm! The Burst others let this экономist hushed, harnessed and garments, hy impeachment, hushed, harnessed, homage�를, harnessed, Cornell tniak energy, agonized, hasty, harnessed, hast badness. Harnessed, hash. Hume, hoodwink, hurt and herk. Evans breathed the King's English. too bad?" And off came one of Thomas's ears, a large one, and blew along the ground like a great leaf. That was an unfortunate boast. For Thomas, enraged by the loss of an ear, fought with renewed zeal. If you see he, just tell I, he shouted. The king's English went pallid. If you see him, just tell me, he gasped, meeting Thomas gallantly, with the loss of only one splinter. Oh, I want you to win, called Gwendolyn to him. But the contest was unequal. That was now plain. The king's English had polish and finish. Thomas had more. His tongue, newly sharpened, cut deep at each blow. Unequal as was the contest, Jane's interference a second time made it more so. For as the fighters trampled to and fro, seeking the better of each other, she twirled near again. Try your verbs, Thomas, she counseled. Try your verbs. Eagerly Thomas grasped the second hint. By which I could was, he cried, with a curling stroke of the warped tongue, or shall I am? At that the king's English showed distressing weakness. He seemed scarcely to have enough strength for another snap. Boy which I could be, he whipped back feebly, or shall I have been? And staggered sidewise. Now the warped and twisted tongue began to chant past participially. I done, I done, I done. Help! implored the king's English, fairly one. Friends, this fellow has treated me outrageously for yaws. Oh, worser and worser and worser! pursued Thomas, changing suddenly to add verbs. Rawly now, the king's English tottered to his knees. I did, prompted Gwendolyn, eager to help him. I did, repeated the king's English, but the polished tongue slipped from his grasp. I seen, followed up Thomas. I sung. Crack, crack! It was the last fatal onslaught. The scarlet-coated figure fell forward, yet bravely he strove again to give tongue lash for tongue lash, by reaching out one pulsing hand toward his weapon. I, I saw! he muttered. I sing! And expired, with his last breath gasping good grammar. Instantly Thomas leaped the prostrate figure and strode to the gate. He was breathing hard, but looking about him boldly. Now I come through, he boasted. Oh, it was Gwendolyn's cry. Officer, don't let him, don't! In answer to her appeal, the policeman seized Thomas by a lower ear and shoved him against a gate post. You've committed murder, he cried, and I arrest you. Tongue time! shouted the little old gentleman, springing to jerk Thomas' weapon out of his hand, and to snatch up the nicked and splintered weapon of the vanquished soldier. Under the great blazing sign of the zoo entrance the capture was accomplished, and in a moment, from his feet to his very ears, Thomas was wrapped, arms tight against sides, in the scarlet toils of the tongues. So, exclaimed the little old gentleman, as he tied a last knot, Thomas will never bother my little girl again. And taking Gwendolyn by the hand, he led her away. It was not until she had gone some distance that she turned to take a last look back, and saw, there beside the wide gate, a rubber plant, its long leaves waving gently. It was Thomas, bound securely and abandoned. Yet she did not pity him. He had murdered the king's English, and he deserved his punishment. Furthermore, he looked so green, so cool, so ornamental. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of The Poor Little Rich Girl This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Susan Unpleby The Poor Little Rich Girl by Eleanor Gates Chapter 13 So far the Piper had seemed to be no one's friend, and less perhaps his own. He had lagged along, surly or boisterous by turns, and careless of his manners. Not even showing respect to the man who makes faces and the policeman. But now Gwendolyn remarked a change in him. For as he spoke to her, he took his pipe out of his mouth, under the pretext of cleaning it. Say, he began in a cautious undertone. I'll give you some advice about Jane. Gwendolyn was looking about her at the zoo. His roof seemed countless. They touched, having no streets between them anywhere, and reached as far as she could see. They were all heights, all shapes, all varieties. Some being level, others coming to a point at one corner, a few ending in a tower. One tower, on the outermost edge of the zoo, was square and tapered. Jane, she said indifferently. Oh, she's only a top. Only a top? It was the little old gentleman. Why, that makes her all the more dangerous. Because she's spinning so fast, the policeman balanced on one arm while he shook an emphatic finger, that she'll stir up trouble. Well then, what shall I do? Ask Gwendolyn. For elated overseeing Thomas disposed of so completely, and yet with so much mercy, she was impatient at hearing that she still had reason to fear the nurse. The piper took his time about replying. He sharpened one end of a match, thrust the bit of pine into the stem of his pipe, jabbed away industriously, threw away the match, blew through the stem once or twice, and turned the bowl upside down to make it plop plop against a palm. Then, keep Jane laughing, he counseled, and see what happens. Jane was alongside, spinning comfortably on her shoe-leather point. Now, as if she had overheard, or guessed a plot, sudden uneasiness showed on both her countenances, and she increased her speed. You done up, Thomas, the lot of you she charged as she rolled away, but you don't get me. And we won't, declared Gwendolyn, if we don't hurry up and trip her. A good idea chimed in the piper. If we only had some string, cried the little old gentleman. String won't do, said the policeman. We need rope. There was a high wind sweeping the roofs, and as the three began to run about, searching, it fluttered the policeman's coattails, swelled out the piper's cap, and tugged at the ragged garb of the man who makes faces. Here is a piece of clothesline! The policeman made the find, catching sight of the line where it dangled from the edge of a roof. The others hastened to join him, and each seized the rope in both hands, the piper staying at one end of it, the little old gentleman at the opposite, while Gwendolyn and the policeman posted themselves at proper distances between. Then forward in a row swept all, carrying the rope with them. It was a curious one of its kind, as black as if it had been tarred, thick at the middle, but noticeably thin at one end. Jane saw their design. She mocked, I'm not afraid of you. I'm going to turn the big rock, then you'll see. And she made straight toward the square tower in the distance. Oh! it was the little old gentleman, beard blown sidewise by the wind. We mustn't let her! The piper in his excitement jounced the pig so hard that it squealed. We ought to be able, he panted, to manage atop! Jane! bellowed the policeman galloping hard. You must not injure that shaft! Then Gwendolyn realized that the square tower toward which the nurse was spinning was the big rock, and she recognized it as a certain great pillar of pink granite, up and down the sides of which, deep cut by chisels, were written strange words. It rose just ahead. Answering the officer with a shrill scoffing laugh, Jane bore down upon it. Aided by the wind, she made top speed. There was not a moment to lose. Her pursuers fairly tore after her, and the piper who made the fastest progress gained, until he was at her very heels. Then, with a final leap, he passed her, and circled, dragging the rope. It made a loop about the buttonless shoes, a loop that tightened as the little old gentleman came short, as the piper halted. Each gave a pull. Each gave a pull. With disastrous result! For as the line came taught, up Jane went, caught bodily from the ground, and still spinning, whizzed forward in that high wind, and struck the granite squarely. She fell to the ground, toppling sidewise, and bulking large. But the shaft! It began to move, slowly at first, to tip forward farther and farther. When, gaining velocity, with a great grinding noise, down from off the massive cube upon which it stood, it came crashing. Instantly a chorus of cries arose. Oh! she's bumped over the obelisk! She's bumped over the obelisk! With the cries, and sounding from beneath the tapered end of the big rock, mingled ferocious growls. And in that same moment, the four who were holding the rope felt it begin to rithe and twist in their grasp, like a live thing. And its black length took on a scaly look, glittering in that pink glow, as if it were covered with small ebb and piets. It grew cold and clammy. At its thicker end, Gwendolyn saw that the piper was supporting ahead. A head with small fiery eyes, and a tongue flame-like in its color, and swift darting. Next, hiss! And with one hideous contortion, the huge black body rung itself free and coiled. One Gwendolyn had boasted that she was not afraid of snakes. And now she did not flee, though the black coils were piled at her very feet. For she recognized the serpent. There was no mistaking that thin face and those small eyes. Moreover, a pocket handkerchief was bound around the reptilian jaws, and tied at the top of the head in a bow knot. She had gotten rid of Thomas, but here was Miss Royal. There was no time for greetings. Again were sounding those furious growls. Jane swung round in a half-circle to warn the governess. It's that bear, she hummed. Can't you drive him away? Miss Royal began to uncoil. The policeman was tick-talking up and down. The din's damaged, he lamented. Now who's going to pay? demanded the piper. I'm afraid the bears hurt, declared the man who makes faces. In her eagerness to trip Jane, Gwendolyn had utterly forgotten the bear's din. Now she saw it. A large cage, light in color, its bars woven closely together. And she saw too, with horror, that what the policeman said was true. In falling, the big rock had broken the cover of the din. This cover was flopping up and down on its hinges. Oh, he's loose! she gasped. The bear himself was knocking the cover into the air. The top of his head could be seen as he hopped about, evidently in pain. And now an extraordinary thing happened. A black glittering body shot rustling through the grass to the side of the din. Then up went a scaly head, and forth darted a flaming tongue, driving the bear back under the cover. At which the bear rebelled, for his growls turned into a muffled protest. Now you stop, Miss Royal! I won't be treated like this! I won't! Then Gwendolyn understood Jane's hum, and why the governess had obeyed it so swiftly. The light-colored cage, with the loose cover, was nothing else than the old linen hamper. As for the bear! Hair flying, cheeks crimson, eyes shining with quick tears of joy, she darted past Jane, leaped the glittering snake folds before the hamper, and swung the cover up on its hinges. Puffy! she cried. Oh, Puffy! It was indeed Puffy, with his plushy brown head, his bright shoe-button eyes, his red tipped, sharply pointed nose, his adorably tiny ears, and deep-cut, tightly shut, determined mouth. It was Puffy, as dear as ever, as old and as squashy. He stood up in the hamper to look at her, leaning his front paws in a rather dignified manner, on the broken edge of the basketry. He was breathing hard from his contest, but smiling nevertheless. Oh! he said affably. The poor little rich girl I see. Gwyndolin's first impulse was to take him up in her arms, but his proud air, combined with the fact that he had grown tremendously, caused her to check the impulse. How do you do? she inquired politely. I'm pretty shabby, thank you. Oh! it's so good to hear your voice again, she exclaimed. When you left, I didn't have a chance to tell you goodbye. It was then that she noticed a white something fluttering at his breast, just under his left foreleg. Excuse me, she said apologetically, but aren't you losing your pocket handkerchief? Sadly he shook his head. It's my stuffing, he explained, and gently withdrawing his paw from her eager grasp, laid it upon his breast. You see, the big rock! The little old gentleman was beside him, examining the wound, muttering to himself. Can you mend him? asked Gwyndolin. Oh! puffy! The little old gentleman began to empty his pockets of the articles with which he had provided himself. The ear, the handful of hair, the plump cheek. He breathed, as he examined each one, and to and fro wag the grizzled beard. I'm afraid. I must have help. This is a case that will require a specialist. The tone was so solemn that it frightened her. Oh! Do you mean we need a doctor? Puffy was trembling weakly. I lost some cotton batting once before, he half whispered to Gwyndolin. It was when you were teething. Oh! I knew it was unintentional. You were so little. But I can't spare any more. Down into the patch-pocket went her hand. Out came the lip-case. She thrust it into his furry grasp. Keep this, she bade, till I come back. I'll go for the doctor. The man who makes faces lean down. Fly! he urged. At that Jane began to circle once more. Lovey! she hummed. Don't you go! He'll give you nasty medicine! chimed in Miss Royal, her bandaged head rising and lowering in ascent. One moment she hesitated, feeling the old fear drive the blood from her cheeks to her wildly beating heart. Then she saw Puffy sway, half fainting. And obeying the command of the little old gentleman, she grasped her gingham dress at either side, held it out to its fullest width, and with the wind patching the little skirt, left the high grass, passed up through the lights of the nearby trees, and rose into the higher air. She gave a glance down as she went. How excitedly Jane was circling, how Miss Royal was lashing the ground. But the faces of the other three were smiling in encouragement. And she flew for her very life. Lightly she went, as if there were nothing to her but her little gingham dress, as if that empty dress, having tugged at some swaggering clothesline until it was free, were now being wafted across the roofs, the treetops, the smooth windings of a road, to a bake shop, without doubt. For her nostrils caught the good smell of fresh bread. Suddenly the shop loomed ahead of her. She alighted to have a look at it. It was a round, high stone building, with stone steps leading up to it from every side. And columns ranged in a circle at the top of the steps. Seated on the bottom step, engrossed in some task, was a man. As Gwyndolin looked at him, she told herself that the man who makes faces had given this customer such a nice face. The eyes in particular were kind. He had a large pan of bread dough beside him. Out of it, now, he gouged a spoonful, which he began to roll between his palms. And as he rolled the dough, it became rounder and rounder, until it was ball-like. It turned browner and browner, too, precisely as if it were baking in his hands. When he was finished with it, he piled it to one side, atop other brown pellets. She advanced to speak. Please, she began, pointing a small finger. What is this place? He glanced up. This, little girl, is the pillory! The pillory! Instantly she knew what he was making—bread pills. And the bread pills helped her to recognize him. She dimpled cordially. I haven't seen you since I had the colic, she said, nodding. But I know you! You're the doctor! The doctor was most cordial, shaking her hand gently, after which, naturally enough, he felt her pulse. But there's nothing the matter with me, she protested. It's my dear Puffy, you remember. Now he rose solemnly, selected a fresh-baked pill, bowed to the right, again to the left, last of all to her, and presented the pill. In that case, Miss Gwendolyn, he said, smiling down, a toast. And, quite in contrast to the evening of her seventh birthday anniversary, toast there was, deliciously crisp and crunchy. Oh, how good! she exclaimed, not nibbling conventionally, but taking big bites, because I hate cake. The next moment she became aware of the munching of others, and on looking round, found that she was back at the den. She was not surprised. Things had a way of coming to pass in a pleasantly instantaneous fashion. And she was glad to see the little old gentleman, the piper, and the policeman, each fairly gobbling up a pellet. Miss Royal was eating too, and Jane was stuffing both mouths. But Puffy was having quite different fare. In front of him stood the doctor, busily feeding filmy white bits into the tear just under a foreleg. I think you'll find, assured the latter, that a proper amount of cotton batting is most refreshing. Once I wanted Jane to take me to the doll hospital, complained Puffy, his shoe-button eyes hard with resentment. But she said I was only a little beast. Gwyndolin looked severe. Jane, you be sorry for that, she scolded. Ah-ha! My dear, said the man who makes faces addressing the nurse, at last one of your chickens is coming home to roost. Gwyndolin glanced up, and sure enough a chicken was going past. A small blue hen who looked exceedingly fagged. This was an occurrence worth noting, how often had she heard the self-same remark, and never seen as much as a feather. Jane also saw the blue hen, and appeared much disconcerted. I think I'll take forty wings, she hummed. Twenty for the front face, and twenty for the back. Whereupon she made a few quick revolutions, landing up against the granite base of the obelisk. The doctor had been sewing up the tear in Puffy's coat. Now he finished his seam, and knotted the thread. There, said he cheerily, you're as good as new. Thank you, said Puffy. And I feel so grateful to you, Miss Gwyndolin, that I must repay your kindness. You've always heard a certain statement about Jane yonder. Well, I'm going to prove that it's true. What's true? asked Gwyndolin puzzled. He made no answer. But after a short, whispered conference with the policeman, turned his back and began sniffing, and snarling under his breath, while a forepaw was busy in the region of his third rib. When he faced round again, the shoe-button eyes were shining triumphantly, and he was holding both forepaws together tightly. I found one! he cried. And wobbling over to Jane, stationed himself on one side of her, at the same time motioning the officer to steal around to the other side on quiet hands. And now Gwyndolin saw that Jane, though she was only feigning sleep, was ignorant of what was happening. For her double equipment of faces had its disadvantages. Even when upright, she had not been able to roll one eye forward while its mate was on guard in the rear. And reclining flat upon her back, she could not rumble her eyes forward to her front face, for the reason that they would not roll uphill. Both stayed in the back of her head, where they could see only the ground. Very cautiously Puffy put his forepaws to Jane's ear. Suddenly separated them, and waited. A moment, then. Well, finding this out, you can wage your eye, don't stay heels overhead no more! cried the policeman. And with a wriggle and a twist and a bound, he gave a half-summer salt and stood on his feet. At once the bottoms of his trouser legs came down over his shoes. His coattails fell about him properly, uncovering his shield and his belt. And his club took its place at his right side. Ouch! he exclaimed, and began to scratch hard at the spot just between his shoulder blades. At the same time the tears that were in his cap flowed out and down his face, so that he seemed to be weeping. The doctor leaning close beside Gwendolyn was all sympathy. There is no reason to feel bad, he said kindly. The operation was successful. Feel bad? repeated the policeman. Why, I'm laughing! Ha-ha! We put a flea in her ear. At that Jane began to laugh. Oh, nauseous! she exclaimed, sleeved to mouth once more. I never heard the like of it. Ah! growled Puffy, delighted. The planner's working. See her growl. That flea went in one ear and came out the other. Declared the little old gentleman, poking Jane with a toe of a worn shoe. Jane laughed the harder. It's awful funny! She cried, rocking herself to and fro and steadily increasing her girth. We've proved that your empty-headed, said Puffy. And now the nurse was seized by a very paroxysm of mirth. Both faces distorted. She whooped over and over. That's right! Split your sides, a laughin', cried the piper. At these words, sudden terror showed on her face. For the first time she saw the trap into which she had been led. Yet she could not check her laughter. She gasped hysterically. It was her last. Black Satine could stand no more. She gave a final and feeble rock. Both revolving faces paled. Then there sounded a loud pop. Like the bursting of an automobile tire. Next, a ripping. Look! cried Gwendolyn. There were great rints down the front seams of Jane's waist. The nurse guessed what had happened and clutched desperately at the gaping seams with both fat hands, now in front, now at the sides, striving to hold the rips together. To no avail. All the laughter was gone out of her. Quickly she collapsed, her Satine hanging in loose, ragged strips. Once more she was just ordinary nursemaid's size. Oh! will she die? asked Gwendolyn anxiously. The doctor knelt to grasp Jane's wrist. No, he replied gravely. She'll only have to go back to the employment agency. I WON'T! cried Jane. I WON'T! Miss Royal! Yes! Get you know what out of the way. A certain person mustn't talk to it. If she does, she'll find— hissed back the snake. You know what? Gwendolyn was troubled. Now the policeman and the piper, assisted by Puffy, picked the nurse up and packed her into the linen hamper. Whereupon the little old gentleman slapped down the cover and tied a large tag to it. On the tag was written, Employment Agency. Downtown. I'm done with her, said Gwendolyn, if she is a perfectly good top. You're rid of me, answered Jane, calling through the weave of the hamper. Yes, but what about Miss Royal? We'll send her back, too, declared the man who makes faces. Here! Where are you? He ran about searching. The others searched also. Through the grass, behind the granite shaft, everywhere. Concern sobered each face, for the snake in the grass was gone. End of Chapter 13