his front paws--in
rather a dignified manner--on the broken edge of the basketry. He was
breathing hard from his contest, but smiling nevertheless.

"Ah!" said he, affably. "The Poor Little Rich Girl, I see!"

Gwendolyn's first impulse was to take him up in her arms. But his proud
air, combined with the fact that he had grown tremendously, caused her
to check the impulse.

"How do you do?" she inquired politely.

"I'm pretty shabby, thank you."

"Oh, it's _so_ good to hear your voice again!" she exclaimed. "When you
left, I didn't have a chance to tell you good-by."

It was then that she noticed a white something fluttering at his breast,
just under his left fore-leg. "Excuse me," she said apologetically, "but
aren't you losing your pocket handkerchief?"

Sadly he shook his head. "It's my stuffing," he explained. And gently
withdrawing his paw from her eager grasp, laid it upon his breast. "You
see, the Big Rock--"

The little old gentleman was beside him, examining the wound; muttering
to himself.

"Can you mend him?" asked Gwendolyn. "Oh, Puffy!"

The little old gentleman began to empty his pockets of the articles with
which he had provided himself--the ear, the handful of hair, the plump
cheek. "Ah! Ah!" he breathed as he examined each one; and to and fro
wagged the grizzled beard. "I'm afraid--! I must have help. This is a
case that will require a specialist."

The tone was so solemn that it frightened her. "Oh, do you mean we need
a _Doctor?_"

Puffy was trembling weakly. "I lost some cotton-batting once before,"
he half-whispered to Gwendolyn. "It was when you were teething. Oh, I
know it was unintentional! You were _so_ little. But--I can't spare any
more."

Down into the patch-pocket went her hand. Out came the lip-case. She
thrust it into his furry grasp. "Keep this," she bade, "till I come
back. _I'll_ go for the Doctor."

The Man-Who-Makes-Faces leaned down. "Fly!" he urged.

At that, Jane began to circle once more. "Lovie," she hummed, "don't you
go! He'll give you nasty medicine!"

"Hiss-s-s-s!" chimed in Miss Royle, her bandaged head rising and
lowering in assent. "He'll cut out your appendix."

One moment she hesitated, feeling the old fear drive the blood from her
cheeks--to her wildly beating heart. Then she saw Puffy sway, half
fainting. And obeying the command of the little old gentleman, she
grasped her gingham dress at either side--held it out to its fullest
width--and with th