must all
absquatulate." He took her hand.

"Oh, must you?" she asked regretfully. Absquatulate was a big word, but
she understood it, having come across it one day in the Dictionary.

"Good-by." He leaned down. And she saw that his round black eyes were
clouded, while his square brush-like brows were working with the effort
of keeping back his tears. "Good-by!" He stepped back out of the waiting
line, turned, and made off slowly, turning the crank of the hand-organ
as he went.

Now the voices of They spoke up. "We also bid you good-night," They said
politely. "We shall have to go. People must hear about this." And
shoulder to shoulder They wheeled and followed the little old gentleman.

"But my Puffy!" said Gwendolyn. "I'd like to keep him. I don't care if
he is shabby."

For answer there was a crackling and crashing in the underbrush, as if
some heavy-footed animal were lumbering away.

"I think," explained her father, "that he's gone to make some poor
little boy very happy."

"Oh, the Rich Little Poor Boy, I guess," said Gwendolyn, contented.

The Bird was just in front of her. He looked very handsome and bright as
he flirted his rudder saucily, and darted, now up, now down. Presently,
he began to sing--a glad, clear song. And singing, rose into the air.

"Oh!" she breathed. "He's happy 'cause he got that salt off his tail."
When she looked again at the line, the Policeman was nowhere to be
seen. "Doctor!"

"Yes."

"Don't _you_ go."

"The Doctor is right here," said her mother, soothingly.

Gwendolyn smiled. And put one hand in the clasp of her mother's, the
other in a bigger grasp.

"Tired out--all tired out," murmured her father.

She was sleepy, too--almost past the keeping open of her gray eyes.
"Long as you both are with me," she whispered, "I wouldn't mind if I was
back in the nursery."

The glow that filled the Land now seemed suddenly to soften. The
clustered tapers had lessened--to a single chandelier of four globes.
Next, the forest trees began to flatten, and take on the appearance of
a conventional pattern. The grass became rug-like in smoothness. The sky
squared itself to the proportions of a ceiling.

There was no mistaking the change at hand!

"We're getting close!" she announced happily.

The rose-colored light was dim, peaceful. Here and there through it she
caught glints of white and gold. Then familiar objects took shape. She
made out the pier-glass; flanking it, her writing