e--"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 Royle had
never permitted her to mention. Still--

"But--but where could we--er--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 brimming with laughter.

"Who'll help her?" demanded Gwendolyn. "_Nobody_. So _one_ of that three
is gone for good!"

She halted now--on the summit of a rise. 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 darlin'!" she called weepingly. "Oh, don't leave your
Jane! Oh! Oh!"

"I've made up my mind," announced Gwendolyn, "to have the nurse-maid in
the brick house. So, good-by--good-by."

She began to descend rapidly, with the 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!_