Gwendolyn did not move. But as she watched Jane the gray eyes filled with tears, which overflowed and trickled slowly down her cheeks. "If—if Thomas walked along with us," she began, "could—could anybody steal me then?"
Jane was taking out coat, hat and gloves. "What would kidnapers care about Thomas?" she demanded contemptuously. "Sure, they'd steal you, and then they'd say to your father, 'Give! me a million dollars in cash if you want Miss Gwendolyn back.' And if your father didn't give the money on the spot, you'd be sold to gipsies, or—or Chinamen."
But Gwendolyn persisted. "Thomas has killed el'phunts," she reminded. "Are—are kidnapers worse than el'phunts?" She drew on her gloves.
Jane sat down and held out the coat. It was of velvet. "Now be still!" she commanded roughly. "You'll go in the machine if you go at all. Do you hear that?"—giving Gwendolyn a half-turn-about that nearly upset her. "Do you think I'm goin' to trapse over the hard pavements on my poor, tired feet just because you take your notions?"
Gwendolyn began to cry—softly. "Oh, I—I thought I wouldn't ever have to ride again wh-when I was seven," she faltered, putting one white-gloved hand to her eyes.
"Stop that!" commanded Jane, again, "Dirtyin' your gloves, you wasteful little thing!"
Now the big sobs came. Down went the yellow head.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" said Thomas. "Little ladies never cry."
"Walk! walk! walk!" scolded Jane, kneeling, and preparing to adjust the new hat.
The hat had wide ribbons that tied under the chin—new, stiff ribbons.