o 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 Royle 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. "'Cause 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 doin' for you, lovie, but dancin'
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 unconcernedly, "why, _dance_."

"Yes, dance," broke in the Man-Who-Makes-Faces, snapping his fingers.
"Frolic and frisk and flounce!"

Jane