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Updated: June 8, 2025
Keep off The Glass. "'Keep off the glass," read Gwendolyn. "And I don't wonder. 'Cause we'd crack it." "We don't crack it, we cross it," reminded the Man-Who-Makes-Faces. And stepped boldly upon the gleaming plate. "My! My!" exclaimed the Piper. "Ain't there a fine crop this year!" A fine crop? Gwendolyn glanced down.
The afternoon was a French-and-music afternoon. Directly after dinner might be expected the Gallic teacher undesired at any hour. Thomas puttered and frowned until a light tap announced her arrival. Then quickly handed Gwendolyn over to her company. Mademoiselle Du Bois was short and spare. And these defects she emphasized by means of a wide hat and a long feather boa.
Why had Miss Royle, sly reptile that she was, scuttled away without so much as a good-by? "Oh, dear!" sighed Gwendolyn; "just as soon as one trouble's finished, another one starts!" "We must get on her track!" declared the Policeman, patroling to and fro anxiously. "And let's hurry," urged the Man-Who-Makes-Faces. "It's coming night in the City. And all these lights'll be needed soon."
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.
In the daytime she looked rather battered and ugly to eyes accustomed to the delicate finish of creatures like the French manikins, but after she was tucked away in her cot in the passion flower dressing-room all of Margaret's belongings and decorations were a faint, pinky lavender, her dear daughter Gwendolyn, who impersonated Albertina at increasingly rare intervals as time advanced, lay in the hollow of her arm and received her sacred confidences and ministrations as usual.
"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.
"Oh, she's seven." A soft hand stroked the yellow hair. "As much as that? Really?" The inference was not lost upon Gwendolyn. She tightened her embrace. And turning her head on her mother's breast, looked frank resentment. The visitors were not watching her. They were exchanging glances and smiles, faint and uneasy. Slowly now they began to move toward the hall door, which stood open.
Gwendolyn leaned forward for a swift glance at the lower windows, barred against intruders. The great house was of stone. On side and rear it stood flat against other houses. But it was built on a corner; and along its front and outer side, the tops of the basement windows were set a foot or more above the level of the sidewalk.
And I shouldn't wonder if he isn't coming to match it!" But what temporary confidence she gained, fled when Jane, tettering from side to side, began to threaten in a most terrifying way. "Now, young Miss!" she cried. "Now, you're goin' to be sorry you didn't mind Jane! Oh, I told you he'd git you some fine day!" The Man-Who-Makes-Faces retorted what, Gwendolyn did not hear.
"The nurse in the brick house!" he repeated softly. "The one with the curly hair," went on Gwendolyn, cracking more pods. Thomas turned his face toward the side window of the school-room. Through it could be seen the chimneys of the brick house. He smacked his lips. "You like peanuts, too," said Gwendolyn. She proffered the bag. He ignored it. His look was dreamy.
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