But what temporary confidence she gained, fled when Jane, tettering from side to side, began to threaten in a most terrifying way. "Now, young Miss!" she cried. "Now, you're goin' to be sorry you didn't mind Jane! Oh, I told you he'd git you some fine day!"
The Man-Who-Makes-Faces retorted—what, Gwendolyn did not hear. She was sick with apprehension. "I guess I won't find my father and moth-er now," she whispered miserably.
Then, all at once, she could see more than a face! Silhouetted against the lighted sky was a figure—broad shouldered and belted, with swinging cudgel, and visored cap. It was like those dreaded figures that patroled the Drive—yet how different! For as the Policeman came on, his wild face peered between his coat-tails!—peered between his coat-tails for the reason that he was upside down, and walking on his hands!
"Hoo! hoo! Hoo! hoo!" he clamored again. His coat flopped about his ears. His natural merino socks showed where his trousers fell away from his shoes. His club bumped the side of his head at every stride of his long blue-clad arms.
His identification was complete. For precisely as Thomas had declared, he was heels over head.
"My!" breathed Gwendolyn, so astonished that she almost forgot to be anxious for her own safety. (What a marvelous Land was this—where everything was really as it ought to be!)
The Man-Who-Makes-Faces addressed her, smiling down. "You won't mind if we don't start for a minute or two, will you?" he inquired. "This Officer will probably want to discuss the prices of eyes. You see, I gave him his black one. If he wants another, though, I shall be obliged to ask the Piper to collect."
"Aren't—aren't you afraid of him?" stammered Gwendolyn, in a whisper.
"Afraid?" he echoed, surprised. "Why, no! Are you?"
Somehow, she felt ashamed. "N-n-not very," she faltered.