resently, without even a parting glance, she held the bonnet out to
him. "Take it away," she commanded. "It isn't becoming."

He received it; and promptly made off along the road, the bonnet held up
before his face. "When it comes to chargin'," he called back, with an
independent jerk of the head, "I'm the only chap that can keep ahead of
a chauffeur." And he laughed uproariously.

Gwendolyn's mother now began to admire the poke, turning it around, at
the same time tilting her head to one side,--this very like the Bird!
She fingered the lace, and picked at the ribbon. Then, having viewed it
from every angle, she opened it--as if to put it on.

There was a bounce and a piercing squeal. Then over the rim of the poke,
with a thump as it hit the roadway, shot a small black-and-white pig.

She dropped the poke and sprang back, frightened. And as the porker cut
away among the trees, she wheeled, caught sight of Gwendolyn, and
suddenly opened her arms.

With a cry, Gwendolyn flung herself forward. No need now to fear
harming an elegant dress, or roughing carefully arranged hair.
"Moth-er!" She clasped her mother's neck, pressing a wet cheek against a
cheek of satin.

"Oh, my baby! My baby!--Look at mother!"

"I _am_ looking at you," answered Gwendolyn, half sobbing and half
laughing. "I've looked at you for a _long_ time. 'Cause I _love_ you so
I love you!"

The next moment the Man-Who-Makes-Faces dashed suddenly aside--to a
nearby flower-bordered square of packed ground over which, blazing with
lights, hung one huge tree. Under the tree was a high, broad bill-board,
a squat stool, and two short-legged tables. The little old gentleman
began to bang his furniture about excitedly.

"The tables are turned!" he shouted. "The tables are turned!"

"Of course the tables are turned," said Gwendolyn; "but what
diff'rence'll _that_ make?"

"Difference?" he repeated, tearing back; "it means that from now on
everything's going to be exactly _opposite_ to what it has been."

"Oo! Goody!" Then lifting a puzzled face. "But why didn't you turn the
tables at first? And why didn't we stay here? My moth-er was here all
the time. And--"

The Man-Who-Makes-Faces regarded her solemnly. "Suppose we hadn't gone
around," he said. "Just suppose." Before her, in a line, were They, the
Doctor, the Policeman, Puffy and the Bird. He indicated them by a nod.

She nodded too, comprehending.

"But now," went on the little old gentleman, "we