CHAPTER VIII
It was a cry of amazement. For suddenly--so suddenly that she did nothave time to think how it had happened--she found herself _up anddressed_, and standing alone, gazing about her, _in the open air!_
But there were no high buildings on any side, no people passing to andfro, no motor-cars flashing by. And the grass underfoot was not thegrass of a lawn, evenly cut and flowerless; it was tall, so that itbrushed the hem of her dress, and blossom-dotted.
She looked up at the sky. It was not the sky of the City, distant, andmarbled with streaks of smoke. It was close and clear; starless, too;and no moon hung upon it. Yet though it was night there was lighteverywhere--warm, glowing, roseate.
By that radiant glow she saw that she was in the midst of trees! Somewere tall and slender and clean-barked; others were low and thick oftrunk, but with the wide shapely spread of the great banyan in hergeography; and, towering above the others, were the giants of thatforest, unevenly branched, misshapen, aslant, and rugged with wart-likeburls.
"Is--is this the Park?" she said aloud, still looking around. "Or--orthe woods across the River?"
But there was no sign of a paved walk, such as traced patterns throughthe Park; nor of a chimney, to mark the whereabouts of a house. Behindher the ground sloped gently up to a wooded rise; in front of her itsloped as gently down to the edge of a narrow, noisy mountain stream.
"Why, I'm at Johnnie Blake's!" she cried--then glanced over a shouldercautiously. If this were indeed the place she had longed to revisit, itwould be advisable to keep as quiet as possible, lest someone shouldhear her, and straightway come to take her home.
Still watching backward apprehensively, she pushed through the grass tothe edge of the stream.
The moment she reached it she knew that it was not the trout-streamalong which she had wandered while her father fished. It was, in fact,not ordinary water at all, but something lighter, more sparkling withcolor, swifter, and louder. It effervesced, so that a creamy mist layalong its surface--this the smoke of bursting bubbles. It was like thebottled water she drank at her nursery meals!
Hands clasped, she leaned to stare down. "Isn't it _funny!_" sheexclaimed half under her breath.
A voice answered her--from close at hand. It was a thin, cracked voice."This is where They get their soda-water," it said.
She turned, and saw him.
He was a queer little old thick-set, dark-skinned gentleman, withgrizzled whiskers, a ragged hat and baggy trousers. His eyes were roundand black under his brows, which were square and long-haired, and notunlike a certain new hand-brush that Jane wielded of a morning acrossGwendolyn's small finger-tips. Over one shoulder, by a strap, hung adark box, half-hidden by a piece of old carpet. In one hand he held ahuge, curved knife.
Though she could not remember ever having seen him at Johnnie Blake's;and though the curved knife was in pattern the true type of akidnaper's weapon, and the look out of those round, dark eyes, as hestrode toward her, was not at all friendly, she did not scamper away.She waited, her heart beating hard. When he halted, she curtsied.
"I've--I've always wondered about soda-water," she faltered, trying tosmile. "But when I asked--"
"Um!" he grunted; then, with a sidewise jerk of the head, "Take adrink."
She lifted eager eyes. "All I _want_ to?" she half-whispered.
He nodded. "Sip! Lap! Tipple!"
"Oo!" Fairly beaming with delight, she knelt down. For the first time inher life she could have all the soda-water she wanted!
First, she put the tip of one finger into the rushing sparkle, slowly,to lengthen out her joy. Next, with a little laugh, she sank her wholehand. Bubbles formed upon it,--all sizes of them--standing out likedewdrops upon leaves. The bubbles cooled. And tempted her thirst. With adeep breath, she bent forward until her red mouth touched the shimmeringsurface. Thus, lying prone, with arms spread wide, she drank deep of theflow.
When she straightened and sat back upon her heels, she made anastonishing discovery: The trees that studded the slope were not coveredwith leaves, like ordinary trees! Each branched to hold lights--myriadsof lights! Some of these shone steadily; others burned with a hissingsound; others were silent enough, but rose and fell, jumped andflickered. It was these countless lights that illumed the forest like apink sun.
She rose. There was wonder in the gray eyes. "Are these Christmastrees?" she said. "Where am I?"
"You've had your soda-water," he answered shortly. "You ought to know."
"Yes, I--I ought to know. But--I don't."
He grunted.
"I s'pose," she ventured timidly, "that nobody ever answers questionshere, either."
He looked uncomfortable. "Yes," he retorted, "_every_body does."
"Then,"--advancing an eager step--"why don't _you?_"
He mopped his forehead. "Well--well--if I must, I must: This is whereall the lights go when they're put out at night."
"Oh!" And now as she glanced from tree to tree she saw that what he hadsaid was true. For the greater part of the lights were electric bulbs;while many were gas-jets, and a few kerosene-flames.
Still marveling, her look chanced to fall upon herself. And she foundthat she was not wearing a despised muslin frock! Her dress wasgingham!--an adorable plaid with long sleeves, and a patch-pocket lowdown on the right side!
"You darling!" she exclaimed happily, and thrust a hand into the pocket."I guess They made it!"
Next she looked down at her feet--and could scarcely believe! She had onno stockings! She did not even have on slippers. _She was barefoot!_
Then, still fearful that there was some mistake about it all, she put ahand to her head; and found her hair-bow gone! In its place, making asmall floppy double knot, was a length of black shoe-string!
"Oh, goody!" she cried.
"Um!" grunted the little old gentleman. "And you can play in the waterif you'd like to."
That needed no urging! She was face about on the instant.
From the standpoint of messing the soda-stream was ideal. It brawledaround flat rocks, set at convenient jumping-distances from one another.(She leaped promptly to one of these and sopped her handkerchief.) Itcircled into sand-bottomed pools just shallow enough for wading; andfrom the pools, it spread out thinly to thread the grass, thus givingher an opportunity for squashing--a diverting pastime consisting insquirting equal parts of water and soil ticklishly through the toes. Shehopped from rock to pool; she splashed from pool to long, wet, muddygrass.
It was the water-play that brought the realization of all her newgood-fortune--the being out of doors and plainly clad; free from theespionage of a governess; away from the tyranny of a motor-car;barefoot; and--chief blessing of all!--_nurseless_.
Forgetting the little old gentleman, in a sudden excess of glee sheseized a stick and bestrode it; seized another and belabored thequarters of a stout dappled pony; pranced, reared, kicked up her wetfeet, shied wildly--
Then, both sticks cast aside, she began to dance; at first withdeliberation, holding out the gingham dress at either side, and mincingthrough the steps taught by Monsieur Tellegen. But gradually she forsookrhythm and measure; capering ceased; the dance became fast and furious.Hallooing, she raced hither and thither among the trees, tossing herarms, darting down at the flowers and flinging them high, swishing heryellow hair from side to side, leaping exultantly toward the lights,pivoting--
Suddenly she found that she was dancing to music!--not the laboriouslystrummed notes of a piano, such as were beaten out by the firm-stridingMiss Brown; not the clamorous, deafening, tuneless efforts of anorchestra. This was _real_ music--inviting, inspiring, heavenly!
It was a hand-organ!
She halted, spell-bound. He was playing, turning the crank with a swift,steady motion, his ragged hat tipped to one side.
Now she understood the box hanging from its strap. She danced up to him,and held out a hand. "Why, you're the _hand-organ_ man!" she pantedbreathlessly. "And you got here as quick as I did!"
He stopped playing, "I'm the hand-organ man when I'm in town," hecorrected. "Here, in the Land of the Lights, I'm the Man-Who-Makes-Faces."
The Man-Who-Makes-Faces! She looked at him with new interest. "Why, ofcourse you are," she acknowledged. "Sometimes you make 'em in town."
"Sometimes in town I make an ugly one," he retorted. Whereupon heshouldered the hand-organ, grasped the curved knife, and started away.As he walked, he called aloud to every side, like a huckster.
"Here's where you get your ears sharpened!" he sang. "_Ears_ sharpened!_Eyes_ sharpened! Edges taken off of tongues!"
She trotted beside him, head up, gray eyes wide, lips parted. He wasascending a gentle rise toward a low hill not far distant. As she drewaway from the stream and the glade, she heard, from somewhere farbehind, a shrill voice. It called a name--a name strangely familiar. Shepaid no heed.
At the summit of the little hill, under some trees, he paused, and wavedthe kidnaper knife in circles. "_Ears_ to sharpen!" he shrilled again."_Eyes_ to sharpen! Edges taken off of tongues!"
She smiled up at him engagingly, noting how his gray hair hung over theback of his collar. She felt no fear of him whatever. "I think you'renice, Mr. Man-Who-Makes-Faces," she announced presently. "I'm so glad Ican look straight at you. I didn't know you, 'cause your voice isdifferent, and 'cause I'd never seen you before 'cept when I was looking_down_ at you."
He had been ignoring her. But now, "Wasn't my fault that we didn't meetface to face," he retorted. Though his voice was still cross, his round,bright eyes were almost kind. "If you'll remember I often came underyour window."
"And I threw you money," she answered, nodding brightly. "I wanted tocome down and talk to you, oh, lots of times, only--"
At that, he relented altogether. And, reaching out, shook handscordially. "Wouldn't you like," said he, "to have a look at myestablishment?" He jerked a thumb over a shoulder. "Here's where I makefaces."
In the City she had seen many wonderful shops, catching glimpses of somefrom the little window of her car, visiting others with Miss Royle orJane. Among the former were those fascinating ones, usually low ofceiling and dark with coal-dust, where grimy men in leather aprons triedshoes on horses; and those horrifying places past which she always drovewith closed eyes--places where, scraped white and head downward, hunglittle pigs, pitiful husks of what they once had been, flanked on eitherhand by long-necked turkeys with poor glazed eyes; and once she had seena wonderful shop in which men were sawing out flat pieces of stone, andwriting words on them with chisels.
But this shop of the Man-Who-Makes-Faces was the most interesting ofall.
It occupied a square of hard-packed ground--a square as broad as thenursery. And curiously enough, like the nursery, it had, marking it offall the way around its outer edge, a border of flowers!
It was shaded by one huge tree.
"Lime-tree," explained the little old gentleman. "And the lights--"
"Don't tell me!" she cried. "I know! They're lime lights."
These made the shop exceedingly bright. Full in their glare, neatlydisposed, were two short-legged tables, a squat stool, and a high, broadbill-board.
The Man-Who-Makes-Faces seated himself on the stool at one of the tablesand began working industriously.
But Gwendolyn could only stand and stare about her, so amazed that shewas dumb. For in front of the little old gentleman, and spread handily,were ears and eyes, noses and mouths, cheeks and chins and foreheads.And upon the bill-board, pendant, were toupees and side-burns andmustaches, puffs, transformations and goatees--and one coronet braid (ared one) glossy and thick and handsome!
The bill-board also held an assortment of tongues--long and scarlet.These, a score in all, were ranged in a shining row. And underneath themwas a sign which bore this announcement:
_Tongues In All Languages Dead or Modern Chic if Seven Are Purchased at Once_.
Gwendolyn clapped her hands. "Oo! how _nice!_" she exclaimed, findingher voice again.
"Quite so," said the little old gentleman, shoving away a tray of chinsand cheeks and reaching for a forehead. "Welcome, convenient, andsatisfactory."
She saw her opportunity. "Please," she began, "I'd like to buy six." Shecounted on her fingers. "I'll have a French tongue, a German tongue, aGreek tongue, a Latin tongue, and--later, though, if you don't happento have 'em on hand--a Spanish and an Italian." Then she heaved a sighof relief. "I'm glad I saw these," she added. "They'll save me a lot ofwork. And they've helped me about a def'nition. I looked for 'lashing'in my big dictionary. And it said 'to whip.' But _I_ couldn't see howanybody could whip anybody else with a _tongue_. Now, though--"
The Man-Who-Makes-Faces nodded. "Just wait till you see the King'sEnglish," he bragged.
"The King's English? Will I see him?"
"Likely to," he answered, selecting an eye. He had all his eyes abouthim in a circle, each looking as natural as life. There were blue eyesand brown eyes, hazel eyes and--
"Ah!" she exclaimed suddenly. "I remember! It was _you_ who gave thePoliceman a black eye!"
"One _fine_ black eye," he answered, chuckling as he poked about in apile of noses and selected a large-sized one. "Yes! Yes! And recently Imade a lovely blue pair for a bad-tempered child who'd cried her owneyes out."
She assented. She had heard of just such a case. "Once I saw some eyesin a shop-window," she confided. "It was a shop where you could buyspectacles."
He wagged his beard proudly. "I made every _one_ of 'em!" he boasted."Oh, yes, indeed." And polished away at the tip of the large nose.
She considered for a moment. "I'm glad I know," she said gravely. "Iwanted to, awful much."
After that she studied the bill-board for a time. And presentlydiscovered that a second supply of eyes was displayed there, being setin it as jewels are set in brooches!
She pointed. "What kind are those?"
He looked surprised at the question. "The bill-board is the rear wall ofmy shop," said he. "And those eyes are wall-eyes."
She flushed with pleasure. "That's _exactly_ what I thought!" shedeclared.
She began to walk up and down, one hand in the patch-pocket--to makesure it was really there. For this was all too good to be true. Here, inthis Land so new to her, and so wonderful, were things about which shehad pondered, and puzzled, and asked questions--the tongues, forinstance, and the lime-lights, and the soda-water. How simply andnaturally each was now explained!--explained as she herself hadimagined each would be. She felt a sudden pride in herself. So far hadanything been really unexpected? As she went back to pause in front ofthe little old gentleman, it was with a delightful sense ofunderstanding. Oh, this was one of her pretend-games, gloriously cometrue!
Now she felt a very flood of questions surge to her lips. She pointed toa deep yellow bowl set on the table beside him. "Would you mind tellingme what that is?" she asked.
"That? That's a sauce-box." And he smiled.
"Oh!--What's it full of, please?"
"Full of mouths,"--cheerily.
It was her turn to smile. She smiled into the sauce-box. At its centerwas a queer object, very like a short length of dried apple-peeling.
"I s'pose that's part of a mouth?" she ventured.
He picked up the object and balanced it across his thumb. "You'veguessed it!" he declared. "And it's a fine thing to carry around withone. You see, it's a stiff upper lip." He tossed it back.
"My!" She took a deep breath. "Once I asked and _asked_ about a stiffupper lip."
He went on with his polishing. "Should think you'd be more interested inthese," he observed, giving a nod of the ragged hat toward a shallowdish at his elbow. "Little girls generally are."
She looked, and saw that the dish was heaped high with what seemed to be_white peanuts_--peanuts that tapered to a point at one end. Shepuckered her brows over them.
"Can't guess?" said he. "Then you didn't drink enough of thatsoda-water. Well, ever hear of a sweet tooth?"
At that she clapped her hands and jumped up and down. "Why, I've _got_one!" she cried.
"Oh?" said the little old gentleman. "Thought so. I _always_ keep asupply on hand. Carve 'em myself, out of cube sugar."
"Oh, aren't they funny!" She leaned above the shallow dish.
"Funny?" repeated the Man-Who-Makes-Faces. "Not when they get into thewrong mouth!--a wry mouth, for instance, or an ugly mouth. A sweet toothshould go, you understand, only with a sweet face."
"Is it a sweet tooth that makes a face sweet?" she inquired.
"Quite so." He held up the nose to examine it critically.
She watched him in silence for a while. Then, "You don't mind tellingme who's going to have that?" she ventured, pointing a finger at thenose.
"This? Oh, this is for a certain little boy's father."
She blinked thoughtfully. "Is his name," she began--and stopped.
"His father--the unfortunate man--has been keeping his own nose to thegrindstone pretty steadily of late, and so--"
"I can't just remember the name I'm thinking about," said Gwendolyn,troubled.
He glanced up. And the round, bright eyes were grave as he searched herface. "I wonder," he said in a low voice, "if you know who _you_ are."
She smiled. "Well, I've been acquainted with myself for seven years,"she declared.
"But do you know who you _are?_" (The round eyes were full of tears!)
She felt uncertain. "I did just a little while ago. Now, though--"
He reached to take her hand. "Shall I tell you?"
"Yes,"--in a whisper.
"You're the Poor Little Rich Girl." He patted her hand. "The Poor LittleRich Girl!"
She nodded bravely, and stood looking up at him. He was old and unkempt.Out at elbows, too. And the bottoms of his baggy trousers hung in dustyshreds. But his lined and bearded face was kind! "I--I haven't been sovery happy," she said falteringly.
He shook his head. "Not happy! And no step-relations, either!"
"Well,--er," (she felt uncertain) "there are some step-houses justacross the street."
"Not the same thing," he declared shortly. "But, _hm! hm!_"--as hecoughed, he waved an arm cheerily. "Things will improve. Oh, yes. Allyou've got to do is follow my advice."
The gray eyes were wistful, and questioning.
"You've got a lot to do," he went on. "Oh, a _great_ deal. Forinstance"--here he paused, running his fingers through his longhair--"there's Miss Royle, and Thomas, and Jane."
She was silent for a long moment. Miss Royle! Thomas! Jane! In the joyof being out of doors, of having real dirt to scuff in, and high grassthrough which to brush; of having a plaid gingham with a pocket, andall the fizzing drink she wished; of being able to dabble and wade; andof having good, squashy soda-mud for pies--in the joy at all this shehad utterly forgotten them!
She looked up at the tapered trees, and down at the flower-borderedground; then at the bill-board, and the loaded tables of that marvelousestablishment. There was still so much to see! And, oh, how many scoresof questions to ask!
He bent until his beard swept the sauce-box. "You'll just have to keepout of their _clutches_," he declared.
Again she nodded, twisting and untwisting her fingers. "I thought maybethey didn't come here."
"Come?" he grunted. "Won't they be hunting _you?_ Well, keep out oftheir clutches, I say. That's absolutely necessary. You'll see why--ifyou let 'em get you! For--how'll you ever find your father?"
"_Oh!_" A sudden flush swept her face. She looked at the ground. She hadforgotten Miss Royle and Thomas and Jane. Worse! Until that moment _shehad forgotten her father and mother!_
"There's that harness of his," went on the Man-Who-Makes-Faces. Hethought a moment, pursing his lips and twiddling his thumbs. "We'll haveto consider how we can get rid of it."
She glanced up. "Where does he come?" she asked huskily; "my fath-er?"
"Um! Yes, where?" He seemed uneasy; scratched his jaw; and rearranged arow of chins. "Well, the fact is, he comes here to--er--buy candles thatburn at both ends."
"Of course. Is it far?"
"Out in a new fashionable addition--yes, addition, subtraction,multiplication."
"_You_ won't mind showing me the way?" Now her face grew pale withearnestness.
He smiled sadly. "I? Your father thinks poorly of me. He's driven me offthe block once or twice, you know. Though"--he looked awaythoughtfully--"when you come to think of it there isn't such a lot ofdifference between your father and me. He makes money: I make faces."
It was one of those unpleasant moments when there seemed very little tobe said. She stood on the other foot.
He began polishing once more. "Then there's that bee," he resumed--
"Moth-er."
He went on as quickly as possible. "Of course there are lots of thingsworse than one of those so-cial hon-ey-gath-er-ing in-sects--"
"She sees nothing else! She _hears_ nothing else!"
"Um! We'll help her get rid of it!--_if!_"
"If?"
"You've got a lot to overcome. Recollect the Policeman?"
She retreated a step.
"Just suppose we meet _him!_ And the Bear that--"
"My!"
"Yes. And a certain Doctor."
"Oh, _dear!_"
"Bad! Pretty bad!"
"Where does my moth-er come?"--timidly.
The question embarrassed. "Er--the place is full of carriage-lamps," hebegan; "and--and side-lights, and search-lights, and--er--lanterns."
She looked concerned. "I can't guess."
"Just ordinary lanterns," he added. "You see, the Madam comes to--toRobin Hood's Barn."
"Robin Hood's Barn!"
"Exactly. Nice day, _isn't_ it?"
By the expression on his face, Gwendolyn judged that Robin Hood'sBarn--of which she had often heard--was a most undesirable spot. "Is itfar?" she asked, swallowing.
"No. Only--we'll have to go around it."
Somehow, all at once, he seemed the one friend she had. She put out ahand to him. "You _will_ go with me?" she begged. "Oh, I want to find myfath-er, and my moth-er!"
"You want to tell 'em the real truth about those three servants they'rehiring. Unless I'm _much_ mistaken, your parents have never taken onegood square look at those three."
"Oh, let's start." Now, of a sudden, all the hopes and plans of the pastmonths came crowding back into her mind. "I want to sit at the grown-uptable," she declared. "And I want to live in the country, and go today-school."
He hung the hand-organ over a shoulder. "You can do every one of them,"he said, "if we find your father and mother."
"We'll find them," she cried determinedly.
"We'll find 'em," he said, "if, as we go along, we don't leaveone--single--stone--_unturned_."
"Oh!" she glanced about her, searching the ground.
"Not _one_," he repeated. "And now--we'll start." He picked up two orthree small articles--an ear, a handful of hair, a plump cheek.
"But there's a stone right here," said Gwendolyn. It was a small one,and lay at her feet, close to the table-leg.
He peered over. "All right! Turn it!"
She stooped--turned the rock--straightened.
The next moment a chill swept her; the next, she felt a heavy hand uponher shoulder, and clumsy fingers busy with the buttons on the ginghamdress.
"_Tee! hee! hee! hee!_"
It was the voice that had called from a distance. Hearing it now shefelt a sudden, sickish, sinking feeling. She whirled.
A strange creature was kneeling behind her--a creature dressed in blacksateen, and like no human being that she had ever met before. For itwas _two-faced!_
One face (the front) was blowzy and freckled, with a small pug nose anda quarrelsome mouth. The other (the face on what, with ordinary persons,was the back of the head) was dark and forbidding, its nose a largebrick-colored pug, the mouth underneath shaped most extraordinarily--notunlike a _barrette_, for it was wide and long, and square at thecorners, and full
of shining tortoise-shell teeth! But the creature hadonly one tongue. This was loose at both ends, so that there was one tipfor her front face, and one for the back. But she had only one pair ofeyes. These were reddish. They watched Gwendolyn boldly from the front;then rolled quickly to the rear to stare at the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.
At sight of the two-faced creature, Gwendolyn shrank away, frightened.
"Oh!--oh, my!" she faltered.
Both horrid mouths now bellowed hilariously. And the creature reachedout a big hand.
"Look here, Gwendolyn!" it ordered. "You ain't goin'!"
Gwendolyn lifted terrified eyes for a second look at the brick-coloredhair, the blowzy countenance. No possibility of doubt remained!
It was Jane!