"You want to tell 'em the real truth about those three servants they're hiring. Unless I'm much mistaken, your parents have never taken one good square look at those three."
"Oh, let's start." Now, of a sudden, all the hopes and plans of the past months came crowding back into her mind. "I want to sit at the grown-up table," she declared. "And I want to live in the country, and go to day-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 leave one—single—stone—unturned."
"Oh!" she glanced about her, searching the ground.
"Not one," he repeated. "And now—we'll start." He picked up two or three 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.