Gwendolyn waited—for all the familiar arguments: I can't let you go until you're sent for, dear; Your papa doesn't want to be bothered; and, This is probably his busy day.
Instead, "Has anyone ever told you about that street, Gwennie?"
"No,"—still with lowered glance.
"Well, I wouldn't go down into it if I were you." The tone was full of hidden meaning.
There was a moment's pause. Then, "Why not?" asked Gwendolyn, back against the door. The question was put as a challenge. She did not expect an answer.
An answer came, however. "Well, I'll tell you: The street is full of—bears."
Gwendolyn caught her hands together in a nervous grasp. All her life she had heard about bears—and never any good of them. According to Miss Royle and Jane, these dread animals—who existed in all colors, and in nearly all climes—made it their special office to eat up little girls who disobeyed. She knew where several of the beasts were harbored—in cages at the Zoo, from where they sallied at the summons of outraged nurses and governesses.
But as to their being Down-Town—!
She lifted a face tense with earnestness "Is it true?" she asked hoarsely.
"My dear," said Miss Royle, gently reproving, "ask anybody."