the trees, and the flowers, and the fountains, and--- and
the ob'lisk. But he only likes it up here in summer. In winter he likes
to be Down-Town. And he _ought_ to be Down-Town, 'cause he's got a
_really_ level head--"

"Wave to him now," said her father. "There! He's swinging his
cap!--When we're out walking one of these times we'll stop and shake
hands with him!"

"With the hand-organ man, too, fath-er? Oh, you like him, _don't_ you?
And you won't send him away!"

"Father won't."

He laid her back among the pillows then. And she turned her face to her
mother.

"Can't you sleep, darling?--And don't dream!"

"Well, I'm pretty tired."

"We know what a hard long night it was."

"Oh, I'm _so_ glad we're going back to Johnnie Blake's, moth-er. 'Cause,
oh, I'm tired of pretending!"

"Of pretending," said her father. "Ah, yes."

Her mother nodded at him. "I'm tired of pretending, too," she said in a
low voice.

Gwendolyn looked pleased. "I didn't know you ever pretended," she said.
"Well, of course, you know that _real_ things are so much nicer--"

"Ah, yes, my little girl!" It was her father. His voice trembled.

"Real grass,"--she smiled up at him--"and real trees, and real people."
After that, for a while, she gave herself over to thinking. How
wonderful that one single night could bring about the changes for which
she had so longed!--the living in the country; the eating at the
grown-up table, and having no governess.

One full busy night had done all that! And yet--

She glanced down at herself. Under her pink chin was the lace and ribbon
of a night-dress. She could not remember being put to bed--could not
even recall coming up in the bronze cage. And was the plaid gingham with
the patch-pocket now hanging in the wardrobe? Brows knit, she slipped
one small foot sidewise until it was close to the edge of the
bed-covers, then of a sudden thrust it out from beneath them. The foot
was as white as if it had only just been bathed! Not a sign did it show
of having waded any stream, pattered through mud, or trudged a forest
road!

Presently, "Moth-er,"--sleepily.

"Yes, darling?"

"_Who_ are Law and Order?"

A moment's silence. Then, "Well--er--"

"Isn't it a fath-er-and-moth-er question?"

"Why, _yes_, my baby. But I--"

"Father will tell you, dear." He was seated beside her once more. "You
see it's this way:"

"Can you tell it like a story, fath-er?"

"Yes."

"A once-upon-a-time story?"