up straight, Miss! Sit up straight!" (this a rather
deep quack). "My dear child, you have no sense of time!" And, "What on
earth ever put such a question into your head!" She concluded that the
expressions were issuing from the large bell-shaped horn which was
pointed her way over one shoulder of the man in green. The
talking-machine to which the horn was attached--a handsome mahogany
affair--he carried on his back. It was not unlike a hand-organ. Which
made Gwendolyn wonder if he was not the Man-Who-Makes-Faces' brother.

She glanced back inquiringly at the little old gentleman. Either the
stranger _was_ a relation--and not a popular one--or else the quacking
expressions annoyed. For the Man-Who-Makes-Faces was scowling. And,
"Cavil, criticism, correction!" he scolded, half to himself.

He in green now began to move about and gather silk-shaded candles,
bending this way and that to pluck them, and paying not the slightest
attention to the group of watchers in plain view. But not one of these
was indifferent to _his_ presence. And all were acting in a most
incomprehensible manner. With one accord, Doctor and Piper, Bear and
Policeman, Face-maker and Bird, were rubbing hard at the palm of one
hand. There being no trees close by, the men used the sole of a shoe,
while Puffy raked away at one paw with the claws of the others, and the
Bird pecked a foot with his beak.

And yet Gwendolyn could not believe that it was really _he_.

The Policeman drew near. "You've heard of Hobson's choice?" he inquired
in a low voice. "Perhaps this is Hobson, or Sam Hill, or Punch, or Great
Scott."

The Man-Who-Makes-Faces shook his head. "You don't know him," he
answered, "because recently, when the bears were bothering him a lot in
his Street, I made him a long face."

The man in green was pausing where the candles clustered thickest.
Gwendolyn, still doubtful, went forward to greet him.

"How do you do, sir," she began, curtseying.

His face was long, as the Man-Who-Makes-Faces had pointed out--very
long, and pale, and haggard. Between his sunken temples burned his
dark-rimmed eyes. His nose was thin, and over it the skin was drawn so
tightly that his nostrils were pinched. His lips were pressed together,
driving out the blood. His cheeks were hollow, and shadowed bluely by a
day-old beard. He had on a hat. Yet she was able (curiously enough!) to
note that his hair was sparse over the top of his head, and streaked
with gray.

Ne