"Oo! goody!" she cried.
"You mean you have a solution?" asked the little old gentleman.
"A solution?" called back the Piper. "Well—?"
A moment's perfect stillness. Then, "It's simple," said the Bird. (Now his voice was strangely like the Doctor's.) "I suppose you might call it a salt solution."
His last three words began to run through Gwendolyn's mind—"A salt solution! A salt solution! A salt solution!"—as regularly as the pulse that throbbed in her throat.
"Yes,"—the Doctor's voice now, breathless, low, tremulous with anxiety. "If we want to save her—"
"Am I her?" interrupted Gwendolyn. (And again somebody sobbed!)
"—It must be done!"
"There isn't anything to cry about," declared Gwendolyn, stoutly. She felt hopeful, even buoyant.
It was all novel and interesting. The Doctor began by making grabs at the lump of salt on the Bird's tail. The lump loosened suddenly. He caught it between his palms, after which he began to roll it—precisely as he had rolled the dough at the Pillery. And as the salt worked into a more perfect ball, it slowly browned!