Jane took Gwendolyn by the arm.  “Put all that Johnnie Blake nonsense out of your head,” she commanded.  “Folks that live in the woods don’t know nothin’.  They’re silly and pokey.”

Gwendolyn shook her head with deliberation.  “Johnny Blake wasn’t pokey,” she denied.  “He had a willow fishpole, and a string tied to it.  And he caught shiny fishes on the end of the string.”

“Johnnie Blake!” sniffed Jane.  “Oh, I know all about him.  Rosa told me.  He’s a common, poor little boy.  And”—­severely—­“I, for one, can’t see why you was ever allowed to play with him!...

“Now, darlin’,”—­softening—­“here we stand fussin’, and you ain’t even guessed what your presents are.  Guess something that’s real fine:  something you’d like in the city, pettie.”  She began to unwrap the larger of the packages.

“Oh,” said Gwendolyn.  “What I’d like in the city.  Well,”—­suddenly between her brows there came a curious, strained little wrinkle—­“I’d like—­”

The white paper fell away.  A large, round box was disclosed.  To it was tied a small card.

“This is from your papa!” cried Jane.  “Oh, let’s see what it is!”

The wrinkle smoothed.  A smile broke,—­like sudden sunlight after clouds, and shadow.  Then there poured forth all that had filled her heart during the past months: 

“I’d like to eat at the grown-up table with my fath-er and my moth-er,” she declared; “and I don’t want to have a nurse any more like a baby! and I want to go to day-school.”

Jane gasped, and her big hands fell from the round box.  Thomas stared, and reddened even to his ears, which were large and over-prominent.  To both, the project cherished so long and constantly was in the nature of a bombshell.

“Oh-ho!” said Jane, recovering herself after a moment.  “So me and Thomas are to be thrown out of our jobs, are we?”

Gwendolyn looked mild surprise.  “But you don’t like to be here,” she reminded.  “And you and Thomas wouldn’t have to work any more; you could just play all the time.”  She smiled up at them encouragingly.

Thomas eyed Jane.  “If we ain’t careful,” he warned in a low voice, “and let a certain party talk too much at headquarters—­”

The other nodded, comprehending “I’ll look sharp,” she promised.  “Royle will, too.”  Whereupon, with a forced change to gayety, and a toss of the white card aside, she lifted the cover of the box and peeked in.

It was a merry-go-round, canopied in gay stripes, and built to accommodate a party of twelve dolls.  There were six deep seats, each lined with ruby plush, for as many lady dolls:  There were six prancing Arab steeds—­bay and chestnut and dappled gray—­for an equal number of men.  A small handle turned to wind up the merry-go-round.  Whereupon the seats revolved gayly, the Arabs curvetted; and from the base of the stout canopy pole there sounded a merry tune.