"How do you do, They," she began. "I'm glad to meet you."

They stared at her without replying. They were alike in face as well as
in dress; even in their haughty expression of countenance.

"I've heard about you so often," went on Gwendolyn. "I feel I almost
know you. And I've heard lots of things that you've said. Aren't you
always saying things?"

"Saying things," They repeated. (She was astonished to find that They
spoke in chorus!) "Well, it's often So-and-So that does the talking, but
we get the blame." Now They glared.

Gwendolyn, realizing that she had been unfortunate in the choice of a
subject, hastened to reassure them. "Oh, I don't want to blame you,"
she protested, "for things you don't do."

At that They smiled. "I blame him, and he blames me," They answered. "In
that way we shift the responsibility." (At which Gwendolyn nodded
understandingly.) "And since we always hunt as a couple" (here They
pulled fiercely at the feathers of the captured bird between them)
"nobody ever knows who really _is_ to blame."

They cast aside the crow, then, and led the way along the road, walking
briskly. Behind them walked the Policeman, one hand to his cap.

"Say, please don't put me off the Force," he begged.

Grass and flowers grew along the center of the road. No sooner did the
Policeman make his request than They moved across this tiny hedge and
traveled one side of the road, giving the other side over to the
Officer. Whereupon he strode abreast of They, swinging his night-stick
thoughtfully.

The walking was pleasant there by the stream-side. The fresh breeze
caressed Gwendolyn's cheeks, and swirled her yellow hair about her
shoulders. She took deep breaths, through nostrils swelled to their
widest.

"Oh, I like this place best in the whole, whole world!" she said
earnestly.

The next moment she knew why! For rounding another bend, she caught
sight of a small boyish figure in a plaid gingham waist and jeans
overalls. His tousled head was raised eagerly. His blue eyes shone.

"_Hoo_-hoo-oo-oo!" he called.

She gave a leap forward. "Why, it's Johnnie Blake!" she cried.
"Johnnie! Oh, Johnnie!"

It was Johnnie. There was no mistaking that small freckled nose. "Say!
Don't you want to help dig worms?" he invited. And proffered his
drinking-cup.

She needed no urging, but began to dig at once; and found bait in
abundance, so that the cup was quickly filled, and she was compelled to
use his ragged straw ha