The Poor Little Rich Girl by Eleanor Gates

Author:Eleanor Gates
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dover Publications
Published: 2016-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER IX

BOBBING and swaying foolishly, the nurse-maid shuffled to her feet. And Gwendolyn, though she wanted to turn and flee beyond the reach of those big, clutching hands, found herself rooted to the ground, and could only stand and stare helplessly.

The Man-Who-Makes-Faces stepped to her side hastily. His look was perturbed. “My! My!” he exclaimed under his breath. “She’s worse than I thought!—much worse.”

With a little gasp of relief at having him so near, Gwendolyn slipped her trembling fingers into his. “She’s worse than I thought,” she managed to whisper back.

Neither was given a chance to say more. For seeing them thus, hand in hand, Jane suddenly started forward—with a great boisterous hop and skip. Her front face was distorted with a jealous scowl. She gave Gwendolyn a rough sidewise shove.

“Git away from that old beggar!” she commanded harshly. “Why, he’ll kidnap you! Look at his knife!”

Nimbly the little old gentleman thrust himself in front of her, barring her way, and shielding Gwendolyn. “Who told you where she was?” he asked angrily.

“Who?” mocked Jane, impudently. “Well, who is it that tells people things?”

“You mean the Bird?”

Jane’s front face broke into a pleased grin. “I mean the Bird,” she bragged. And balanced from foot to foot.

Gwendolyn, peeking round at her, of a sudden felt a fresh concern. The Bird!—the same Bird that had repeated tales against her father! And now he was tattling on her! She saw all her hopes of finding her parents, all her happy plans, in danger of being blighted.

“Oh, my goodness!” she said mournfully.

She was holding tight to the little old gentleman’s coat-tails. Now he leaned down. “We must get rid of her,” he declared. “You know what I said. She’ll make us trouble!”

“Here! None of that!” It was Jane once more, the grin replaced by a dark look. “I’ll have you know this child is in my charge.” Again she tried to seize Gwendolyn.

The Man-Who-Makes-Faces stood his ground resolutely—and swung the curved knife up to check any advance.

“She doesn’t need you,” he declared “She’s seven, and she’s grown-up.” And to Gwendolyn, “Tell her so! Don’t be afraid! Tell her!”

Gwendolyn promptly opened her mouth. But try as she would, she could not speak. Her lips seemed dry. Her tongue refused to move. She could only swallow!

As if he understood her plight, the little old gentleman suddenly sprang aside to where was the sauce-box, snatched something out of it, ran to the other table and picked up an oblong leather case (a case exactly like the gold-mounted one in which Miss Royle kept her spectacles), put the something out of the sauce-box into the case, closed the case with a snap, and put it, with a swift motion, into Gwendolyn’s hand.

“There!” he cried triumphantly. “There’s that stiff upper lip! Now you can answer.”

It was true! No sooner did she feel the leather case against her palm, than her fear, and her hesitation and lack of words, were gone!

She assumed a determined attitude, and went up to Jane. “I don’t need you,” she said firmly.

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