which no one had ever
pointed out to her, in a street through which she had never driven, was
her father's office!

She herself often selected the building he was in, placing him first in
one great structure, then in another. Whenever a new one rose, as it
often did, there she promptly moved his office. Once for a whole week he
worked directly under the great glowing eye of the clock.

Just now she was standing at the side window of the nursery looking away
across the roofs. The fat old gentleman at the gray-haired house was
sponging off the rubber-plant, and waving the long green leaves at her
in greeting. Gwendolyn feigned not to see. Her lips were firmly set. A
scarlet spot of determination burned round either dimple. Her gray eyes
smouldered darkly--with a purpose that was unswerving.

"I'm just going down there!" she said aloud.

_Rustle! Rustle! Rustle!_

It was Miss Royle, entering. Though Saturday was yet two days away, the
governess was preparing to go out for the afternoon, and was busily
engaged in drawing on her gloves, her glance alternating between her
task and the time-piece on the school-room mantel.

"Gwendolyn dear," said she, "you can have such a _lovely_ long
pretend-game between now and supper, _can't_ you?"

Gwendolyn moved her head up and down in slow assent. Doing so, she
rubbed the tip of her nose against the smooth glass. The glass was cool.
She liked the feel of it.

"You can travel!" enthused Miss Royle. "And _where_ do you think you'll
go?"

The gray eyes were searching the tiers of windows in a distant granite
pile. "Oh, Asia, I guess," answered Gwendolyn, indifferently. (She had
lately reviewed the latter part of her geography.)

"Asia? Fine! And how will you travel, darling? In your sweet car?"

A pause. Miss Royle was habitually honeyed in speech and full of
suggestions when she was setting out thus. She deceived no one. Yet--it
was just as well to humor her.

"Oh, I'll ride a musk-ox. Or"--picking at random from the fauna of the
world--"or a llama, or a'--a' el'phunt." She rubbed her nose so hard
against the glass that it gave out a squeaking sound.

"Then off you go!" and, _Rustle! Rustle! Rustle!_

Gwendolyn whirled. This was the moment, if ever, to make her wish
known--to assert her will. With a running patter of slippers, she cut
off Miss Royle's progress.

"That tall building 'way, 'way down on the sky," she panted.

"Yes, dear?"--with a simper.

"Is _that_ w