ly, "the dogs go out walking--and--and nobody
steals the dogs."

"Hear the silly child!" cried Jane. "Nobody steals the dogs! Why, if
anybody was to steal the dogs what good would it do 'em? They're only
Pomeranians anyhow, and Madam could go straight out and buy more.
Besides, like as not Pomeranians won't be stylish next year, and so
Madam wouldn't care two snaps. She'd go buy the latest thing in
poodles, or else a fine collie, or a spaniel or a Spitz."

"But other little girls walk all the time," insisted Gwendolyn, "and
nobody steals _them_."

Jane crossed her knees, pursed her mouth and folded her arms. "Well,
Thomas," she said, shaking her head, "I guess after all that I'll have
to tell her."

"Ah, yes, I suppose so," agreed Thomas. His tone was funereal.

Gwendolyn looked from one to the other.

"I haven't wanted to," continued Jane, dolefully. "_You_ know that. But
now she forces me to do it. Though I'm as sorry as sorry can be."

Thomas had just taken his portion of cake in one great mouthful. "Fo'm
my," he chimed in.

Gwendolyn looked concerned. "But I'm seven," she reiterated.

"Seven?" said Jane. "What has that got to do with it? _Age_ don't
matter."

Gwendolyn did not flinch.

"You said nobody steals other little girls," went on Jane. "It ain't
true. Poor little girls and boys, _no_body steals. You can see 'em
runnin' around loose everywheres. But it's different when a little
girl's papa is made of money."

"So much money," added Thomas, "that it fairly makes me palm itch."
Whereat he fell to rubbing one open hand against a corner of the piano.

Gwendolyn reflected a moment. Then, "But my fath-er isn't made of
money,"--she lingered a little, tenderly, over the word father,
pronouncing it as if it were two words. "I _know_ he isn't. When I was
at Johnnie Blake's cottage, we went fishing, and fath-er rolled up his
sleeves. And his arms were strong; and red, like Jane's."

Thomas sniggered.

But Jane gestured impatiently. Then, making scared eyes, "What has that
_got to do_," she demanded, "_with the wicked men that keep watch of
this house?_"

Gwendolyn swallowed. "What wicked men?" she questioned apprehensively.

"Ah-ha!" triumphed Jane. "I _thought_ that'd catch you! Now just let me
ask you another question: _Why are there bars on the basement windows?_"

Gwendolyn's lips parted to reply. But no words came.

"You don't know," said Jane. "But I'll tell you something: There ain't
no b