ry. She would close
all doors softly; then fly to the telephone--_and call up her father_.

There were times when Thomas--as well as the two others--seemed to
possess the power of divination. And during the whole of the dinner his
manner showed distinct apprehension. The meal concluded, even to the use
of the finger-bowl, and all dishes disposed upon the tray, he hung
about, puttering with the table, picking up crumbs and pins, dusting
this article and that with a napkin,--all the while working his lips
with silent speech, and drawing down and lifting his black eye-brows
menacingly.

Meanwhile, Gwendolyn fretted. But found some small diversion in
standing before the pier glass, at which, between the shining rows of
her teeth, she thrust out a tip of scarlet. She was thinking about the
discussion anent tongues held by her mother and the two visitors.

"Seven," she murmured, and viewed the greater part of her own tongue
thoughtfully; "_seven_."

The afternoon was a French-and-music afternoon. Directly after dinner
might be expected the Gallic teacher--undesired at any hour. Thomas
puttered and frowned until a light tap announced her arrival. Then
quickly handed Gwendolyn over to her company.

Mademoiselle Du Bois was short and spare. And these defects she
emphasized by means of a wide hat and a long feather boa. She led
Gwendolyn to the school-room. There she settled down in a low chair,
opened a black reticule, took out a thick, closely written letter, and
fell to reading.

Gwendolyn amused herself by experimenting with the boa, which she
festooned, now over one shoulder, now over the other. "Mademoiselle,"
she began, "what kind of a bird owned these feathers?"

"Dear me, Mees Gwendolyn," chided Mademoiselle, irritably (she spoke
with much precision and only a slight accent), "how you talk!"

_Talk_--the word was a cue! Why not make certain inquiries of
Mademoiselle?

"But do little _birds_ ever talk?" returned Gwendolyn, undaunted. The
boa was thin at one point. She tied a knot in it. "And which little bird
is it that tells things to--to people?" Then, more to herself than to
Mademoiselle, who was still deep in her letter, "I shouldn't wonder if
it wasn't the little bird that's in the cuckoo clock, though--"

"_Ma foil!_" exclaimed Mademoiselle. She seized an end of the boa and
drew Gwendolyn to her knee. "You make ze head buzz. Come!" She reached
for a book on the school-room table. "_Attendez!_"

"Mademo