Buzz-z-z-z!
It was a low, angry droning.
The next moment a figure came into sight at a corner of the Barn. It was a slender, girlish figure, and it came hurrying forward along the circular way with never a glance to right or left. Gwendolyn could see that whoever the traveler was, her dress was plain and scant. Nor were there ornaments shining in her pretty hair, which was unbound. She was shod in dainty, high-heeled slippers. And now she walked as fast as she could; again she broke into a run; but taking no note of the ruts and rough places, continually stumbled.
"She's watching what's in her hand," said the Man-Who-Makes-Faces. "Contemplation, speculation, perlustration." And he sighed.
"She'll have a fine account to settle with me,"—this the Piper again. He whipped out his note-book. "That's what I call a merry dance."
"See what she's carrying," advised the Bird. In one hand the figure held a small dark something.
Gwendolyn looked. "Why,—why," she began hesitatingly, "isn't it a bonnet?"
A bonnet it was—a plain, cheap-looking piece of millinery.
BUZZ-Z-Z-Z-Z!
The drone grew loud. The figure caught the bonnet close to her face and held it there, turning it about anxiously. Her eyes were eager. Her lips wore a proud smile.