“Oh, I want to stay here always!”

She had forgotten that there were others about.  But now a voice—­her father’s—­broke in upon her happy chatter: 

“Without your mother?”

She had been sitting down.  She rose, and brushed her hands on the skirt of her dress.  “I’ll find my moth-er,” she said.

The little old gentleman was beside Johnnie, patting his shoulder and thrusting something into a riveted pocket.  “There!” he half-whispered.  “And tell your father to be sure to keep this nose away from the grindstone.”

Gwendolyn wrinkled her brows.  “But—­but isn’t Johnnie coming with me?” she asked.

At that Johnnie shook his head vigorously.  “Not away from here,” he declared.  “No!”

“No,” repeated Puffy.  “Not away from the woods and the stream and fishing, and hunting frogs and tadpoles and water-bugs.  Why, he’s the Rich Little Poor Boy!”

“Oh!—­Well, then I’ll come back!” She moved away slowly, looking over a shoulder at him as she went.  “Don’t forget!  I’ll come back!”

“I’ll be here,” he answered.  “And I’ll let you use my willow fishpole.”  He waved a hand.

There were carriage-lamps along the stream now.  Alternating with these were automobile lights—­brass side-lights, and larger brass search-lights, all like great glowing eyes.

Again They were in advance.  “We can’t be very far from the Barn,” They announced.  And each waved his right arm in a half-circle.

“Robin Hood’s Barn?” whispered Gwendolyn.

The Policeman nodded.  “The first people to go around it,” said he, “were ladies who used feather-dusters on the parlor furniture.”

“I s’pose it’s been built a long time,” said Gwendolyn.

“Ah, a long time!” Her father was speaking.  Now he halted and pointed down—­to a wide road that crossed the one she was traveling.  “Just notice how that’s been worn.”

The wide road had deep ruts.  Also, here and there upon it were great, bowl-like holes.  But a level strip between the ruts and the holes shone as if it had been tramped down by countless feet.

“Around Robin Hood’s Barn!” went on her father sadly.  “How many have helped to wear that road!  Not only her mother, but her mother before her, and then back and back as far as you can count.”

“I can’t count back very far,” said Gwendolyn, “’cause I never have any time for ’rithmatic.  I have to study my French, and my German, and my music, and my—­”

Her father groaned.  “I’ve traveled it, too,” he admitted.

She lifted her eyes then.  And there, just across that wide road, was the Barn!—­looming up darkly, a great framework of steel girders, all bolted together, and rusted in patches and streaks.  Through these girders could be seen small regular spots of light.

“Nobody has to go round the Barn,” she protested.  “Anybody could just go right in at one side and right out at the other.”