oiled.

Once Gwendolyn had boasted that she was not afraid of snakes. And now
she did not flee, though the black coils were piled at her very feet.
For she recognized the serpent. There was no mistaking that thin face
and those small eyes. Moreover, a pocket-handkerchief was bound round
the reptilian jaws and tied at the top of the head in a bow-knot.

She had gotten rid of Thomas. But here was Miss Royle!

There was no time for greetings. Again were sounding those furious
growls--"_Rar! Rar! Rar!_"

Jane swung round in a half-circle to warn the governess. "It's that
Bear!" she hummed. "Can't you drive him away?"

Miss Royle began to uncoil.

The Policeman was _tick-tocking_ up and down. "The Den's damaged!" he
lamented.

"_Now_, who's goin' to pay?" demanded the Piper.

"I'm afraid the Bear's hurt," declared the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.

In her eagerness to trip Jane, Gwendolyn had utterly forgotten the
Bear's Den. Now she saw it--a large cage, light in color, its bars woven
closely together. And she saw too--with horror--that what the Policeman
said was true: In falling, the Big Rock had broken the cover of the
Den. This cover was flopping up and down on its hinges.

"Oh, he's loose!" she gasped.

"_Rar! Rar! Rar-r-r!_"

The Bear himself was knocking the cover into the air. The top of his
head could be seen as he hopped about, evidently in pain.

And now an extraordinary thing happened: A black glittering body shot
rustling through the grass to the side of the Den. Then up went a scaly
head, and forth darted a flaming tongue--driving the Bear back under the
cover!

At which the Bear rebelled. For his growls turned into a muffled
protest--"Now, you stop, Miss Royle! I _won't_ be treated like this! I
_won't!_"

Then Gwendolyn understood Jane's hum! And why the governess had obeyed
it so swiftly. The light-colored cage with the loose cover was nothing
else than the old linen-hamper! As for the Bear--!

Hair flying, cheeks crimson, eyes shining with quick tears of joy, she
darted past Jane, leaped the glittering snake-folds before the hamper,
and swung the cover up on its hinges.

"Puffy!" she cried. "Oh, Puffy!"

It was indeed Puffy, with his plushy brown head, his bright, shoe-button
eyes, his red-tipped, sharply pointed nose, his adorably tiny ears, and
deep-cut, tightly shut, determined mouth. It was Puffy, as dear as ever!
As old and as squashy!

He stood up in the hamper to look at her, leaning