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At once Gwendolyn's father looked round the circle of picknickers as if annoyed by the crunching; but when the Doctor held out the brown salt, he took it, examined it critically, turning it over and over, then lifted it and bit. "Pretty slim lunch this," he observed. He ate heartily, until the last salt crumb was gone. Then, "I'm thirsty," he declared "Where's ?"
At that Gwendolyn's spirits revived. Somehow, instantly and clearly, she knew what should be done! But when she opened her mouth, she found that she could not speak. Her lips were dry. Her tongue would not move. She could only swallow. Then, just as she was on the point of throwing herself down and giving way utterly to tears, she felt a touch on her hand a furry touch.
"You haven't heard the latest about him?" "Trying to make some Club?" Whispering "On the edge of a crash." "Who told you?" "Oh, a little bird." Up came both palms to cover Gwendolyn's mouth. But not to smother mirth. A startled cry had all but escaped her. A little bird! She knew of that bird! He had told things against her true things more often than not to Jane and Miss Royle.
Gwendolyn made a silent resolution to devote more time and thought to the peevish and staccato instruction of Miss Du Bois. The two were interrupted by a light, quick step outside. Again the hall door opened. "Oh, you'll pardon my having to desert you, won't you?" It was Gwendolyn's mother. "I didn't intend being so long." Gwendolyn half-started forward, then stopped.
"And I ain't been able to get rid of it since. Every single day it's harder to lug around. Because, you see, he's growin'." At that, the Policeman and the Man-Who-Makes-Faces exchanged a glance full of significance. And both shrugged the Policeman with such an emphatic upside-down shrug that his shoulders brushed the ground. Gwendolyn's curiosity emboldened her. "He?" she questioned. "The pig."
"Let me stay just a minute." "That's just the way she acts, sir, whenever it's bed-time," mourned Jane. He leaned to lift Gwendolyn's chin gently. "Father thinks she'd better go now," he said quietly. "And she's not to worry her blessed baby head any more." Then he kissed her. The kiss, the knowledge that strife was futile, the sadness of parting these brought the great sobs.
Now and then, for no apparent reason, she sniffled. Gwendolyn's mind was occupied by a terrifying series of pictures that Miss Royle's declaration called up. The central figure of each picture was her father, his safety threatened. Arrived home, she resolved upon still another course of action. She was forced to give up visiting her father at his office.
Gwendolyn wriggled her ten pink toes. "May I, Jane?" "You can go barefoot to bed," said Jane. Gwendolyn's bed stood midway of the nursery, partly hidden by a high tapestried screen. It was a beautiful bed, carved and enamelled, and panelled head and foot with woven cane. But to Gwendolyn it was, by day, a white instrument of torture.
"Oo! goody!" she cried. "You mean you have a solution?" asked the little old gentleman. "A solution?" called back the Piper. "Well ?" A moment's perfect stillness. Then, "It's simple," said the Bird. His last three words began to run through Gwendolyn's mind "A salt solution! A salt solution! A salt solution!" as regularly as the pulse that throbbed in her throat.
And set within the circle of the border were seven pink candles, all alight. "Oh, look! Look!" cried Jane, excitedly, pulling Gwendolyn's hand away from her eyes. "Isn't it a beautiful cake! You shall have a bi-i-ig piece." Those seven small candles dispelled the gloom. With tears on her cheeks, but all eager and smiling once more, Gwendolyn blew the candles out.
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