es," she announced presently. "I'm so glad I
can look straight at you. I didn't know you, 'cause your voice is
different, and 'cause I'd never seen you before 'cept when I was looking
_down_ at you."

He had been ignoring her. But now, "Wasn't my fault that we didn't meet
face to face," he retorted. Though his voice was still cross, his round,
bright eyes were almost kind. "If you'll remember I often came under
your window."

"And I threw you money," she answered, nodding brightly. "I wanted to
come down and talk to you, oh, lots of times, only--"

At that, he relented altogether. And, reaching out, shook hands
cordially. "Wouldn't you like," said he, "to have a look at my
establishment?" He jerked a thumb over a shoulder. "Here's where I make
faces."

In the City she had seen many wonderful shops, catching glimpses of some
from the little window of her car, visiting others with Miss Royle or
Jane. Among the former were those fascinating ones, usually low of
ceiling and dark with coal-dust, where grimy men in leather aprons tried
shoes on horses; and those horrifying places past which she always drove
with closed eyes--places where, scraped white and head downward, hung
little pigs, pitiful husks of what they once had been, flanked on either
hand by long-necked turkeys with poor glazed eyes; and once she had seen
a wonderful shop in which men were sawing out flat pieces of stone, and
writing words on them with chisels.

But this shop of the Man-Who-Makes-Faces was the most interesting of
all.

It occupied a square of hard-packed ground--a square as broad as the
nursery. And curiously enough, like the nursery, it had, marking it off
all the way around its outer edge, a border of flowers!

It was shaded by one huge tree.

"Lime-tree," explained the little old gentleman. "And the lights--"

"Don't tell me!" she cried. "I know! They're lime lights."

These made the shop exceedingly bright. Full in their glare, neatly
disposed, were two short-legged tables, a squat stool, and a high, broad
bill-board.

The Man-Who-Makes-Faces seated himself on the stool at one of the tables
and began working industriously.

But Gwendolyn could only stand and stare about her, so amazed that she
was dumb. For in front of the little old gentleman, and spread handily,
were ears and eyes, noses and mouths, cheeks and chins and foreheads.
And upon the bill-board, pendant, were toupees and side-burns and
mustaches, puffs, transforma