"Oh, the Rich Little Poor Boy, I guess," said Gwendolyn, contented.
The Bird was just in front of her. He looked very handsome and bright as he flirted his rudder saucily, and darted, now up, now down. Presently, he began to sing—a glad, clear song. And singing, rose into the air.
"Oh!" she breathed. "He's happy 'cause he got that salt off his tail." When she looked again at the line, the Policeman was nowhere to be seen. "Doctor!"
"Yes."
"Don't you go."
"The Doctor is right here," said her mother, soothingly.
Gwendolyn smiled. And put one hand in the clasp of her mother's, the other in a bigger grasp.
"Tired out—all tired out," murmured her father.
She was sleepy, too—almost past the keeping open of her gray eyes. "Long as you both are with me," she whispered, "I wouldn't mind if I was back in the nursery."
The glow that filled the Land now seemed suddenly to soften. The clustered tapers had lessened—to a single chandelier of four globes. Next, the forest trees began to flatten, and take on the appearance of a conventional pattern. The grass became rug-like in smoothness. The sky squared itself to the proportions of a ceiling.