"My!" she exclaimed. "Jane's always been stout. But now—!"
The Policeman was deepening the three short lines in the dirt, making a capital A. "Two streets come together," he said, placing his finger on the point of the letter. "And the block that connects 'em just before they meet, that's the beat for me."
"I hope you'll get it," she said heartily.
"Get it!" he repeated bitterly. "Well, I certainly won't if I don't find that Bird!" And he started forward once more.
The Man-Who-Makes-Faces, trudging alongside, craned to peer ahead, his grizzled beard sticking straight out in front of him. "Now, let me see," he mused in a puzzled way. "Which route, I wonder, had we better take?"
"That depends on where we're going," replied the Policeman, helplessly. "And with the Bird gone, of course I don't know."
"I'll tell you," said the little old gentleman promptly. "First, we must cross the Glass—"
Gwendolyn gave him a quick glance. Surely he meant cross the grass.
"Yes, the Glass; go on," encouraged the Officer.
"—And find him." Those round dark eyes darted a quick glance at Gwendolyn.