(feathers formed a boa about her
neck); the next advanced firmly, a metronome swinging on a slender
pince-nez chain; the last one of all carried a German dictionary.

Her father observed them gloomily. "_That's_ the kind of ducks and
drakes I've been making out of my money," he declared.

The procession quacked loudly, as if glad to get out. And waddled
toward the stream.

"Why!" cried Gwendolyn; "there's Monsieur Tellegen, and my
riding-master, and the chauffeur, and my French teacher, and my
music-teacher, and my Ger--!"

His eyes rested upon her then. And she saw that he knew her!

"Oh, daddy!"--the tender name she loved to call him.

"Little daughter! Little daughter!"

She felt his arms about her, pressing her to him. His pale face was
close. "When my precious baby is strong enough--," he began.

"I'm strong _now_." She gripped his fingers.

"We'll take a little jaunt together."

"We must have moth-er with us, daddy. Oh, _dear_ daddy!"

"We'll see mother soon," he said; "--_very_ soon."

She brushed his cheek with searching fingers. "I think we'd better start
right away," she declared. "'Cause--isn't this a rain-drop on your
face?"

CHAPTER XV

Without another moment's delay Gwendolyn and her father set forth,
traveling a road that stretched forward beside the stream of soda,
winding as the stream wound, to the music of the fuming water--music
with a bass of deep pool-notes.

How sweet it all was! Underfoot the dirt was cool. It yielded itself
deliciously to Gwendolyn's bare tread. Overhead, shading the way, were
green boughs, close-laced, but permitting glimpses of blue. Upon this
arbor, bouncing along with an occasional chirp of contentment, and with
the air of one who has assumed the lead, went the Bird.

Gwendolyn's father walked in silence, his look fixed far ahead.
Trotting at his side, she glanced up at him now and then. She did not
have to dread the coming of Jane, or Miss Royle, or Thomas. Yet she felt
concern--on the score of keeping beside him; of having ready a remark,
gay or entertaining, should he show signs of being bored.

No sooner did the thought occur to her than the Bird was ready with a
story. He fluttered down to the road, hunted a small brush from under
his left wing and scrubbed carefully at the feathers covering his crop.
"Now I can make a clean breast of it," he announced.

"Oh, you're going to tell us how you got the lump?" asked Gwendolyn,
eagerly.

The f