e wind pouching the little skirt, left the high grass,
passed up through the lights of the nearby trees--and rose into the
higher air!

She gave a glance down as she went. How excitedly Jane was circling! How
Miss Royle was lashing the ground!

But the faces of the other three were smiling encouragement. And she
flew for her very life. Lightly she went--as if there were nothing to
her but her little gingham dress; as if that empty dress, having tugged
at some swagging clothes-line until it was free, were now being wafted
across the roofs, the tree-tops, the smooth windings of a road, to--

A bake-shop, without doubt! For her nostrils caught the good smell of
fresh bread. Suddenly the shop loomed ahead of her. She alighted to
have a look at it.

It was a round, high, stone building, with stone steps leading up to it
from every side, and columns ranged in a circle at the top of the steps.
Seated on the bottom step, engrossed in some task, was a man.

As Gwendolyn looked at him she told herself that the Man-Who-Makes-Faces
had given this customer such a nice face; the eyes, in particular, were
kind.

He had a large pan of bread-dough beside him. Out of it, now, he gouged
a spoonful, which he began to roll between his palms. And as he rolled
the dough, it became rounder and rounder, until it was ball-like. It
turned browner and browner, too, precisely as if it were baking in his
hands! When he was finished with it, he piled it to one side, atop
other brown pellets.

She advanced to speak. "Please," she began, pointing a small finger,
"what is this place?"

He glanced up. "This, little girl, is the Pillery."

The Pillery! Instantly she knew what he was making--_bread-pills_.

And the bread-pills helped her to recognize him. She dimpled cordially.
"I haven't seen you since I had the colic," she said, nodding, "but I
know you. You're the Doctor!"

The Doctor was most cordial, shaking her hand gently; after which,
naturally enough, he felt her pulse.

"But there's nothing the matter with _me_," she protested. "It's my dear
Puffy. _You_ remember."

Now he rose solemnly, selected a fresh-baked pill, bowed to the right,
again to the left, last of all, to her--and presented the pill.

"In that case, Miss Gwendolyn," he said, smiling down, "a toast!"

And--quite in contrast to the evening of her seventh birthday
anniversary--toast there _was_, deliciously crisp and crunchy!

"Oo! How good!" she exclaimed, not nib