“Then what was you doin’?—­still as mice behind them curtains.”

The mist cleared.  Her face sunned over once more.  “I was waving at the nurse in the brick house,” she explained.

At that, up went Thomas’s head.  His mouth opened.  His ears grew red.  “The nurse in the brick house!” he repeated softly.

“The one with the curly hair,” went on Gwendolyn, cracking more pods.

Thomas turned his face toward the side window of the school-room.  Through it could be seen the chimneys of the brick house.  He smacked his lips.

“You like peanuts, too,” said Gwendolyn.  She proffered the bag.

He ignored it.  His look was dreamy.  “There’s a fine Pomeranian at the brick house,” he remarked.

“It was the first time I’d ever seen her,” said Gwendolyn, with the nurse still in mind.  “Doesn’t she smile nice!”

Now, Thomas waxed enthusiastic.  “And she’s a lot prettier close to,” he declared, “than she is with a street between.  Ah, you ought—­”

That moment, Jane entered, fairly darting in.

“Here!” she called sharply to Gwendolyn.  “What’re you eatin’?”

“Peanuts, Jane,”—­perfect frankness being the rule when concealment was not possible.

Jane came over.  “And where’d you git ’em?” she demanded, promptly seizing the bag as contraband.

“Thomas.”

Sudden suspicion flamed in Jane’s red glance.  “Oh, you must’ve did Thomas a grand turn,” she observed.

Thomas shifted from foot to foot.  “I was—­er—­um—­just tellin’ Miss Gwendolyn”—­he winked significantly—­“that she wouldn’t like to lose us.”

“So?” said Jane, still sceptical.  Then to Gwendolyn, after a moment’s reflection.  “Let me close up your dictionary for you, pettie.  Jane never likes to see one of your fine books lyin’ open that way.  It might put a strain on the back.”

Emboldened by that cooing tone, Gwendolyn eyed the Manila bag covetously.  “I didn’t eat many,” she asserted, gently argumentative.

“Oh, a peanut or two won’t hurt you, lovie,” answered Jane, kneeling to present the bag.  Then drawing the pink-frocked figure close, “And you didn’t tell him what them two ladies had to say?”

“No.”  It was decisive, “I told him about—­”

“I didn’t ask her,” interrupted Thomas.  “No; I talked about how she loves us.  And a-course, she does....  Jane, ain’t it near twelve?”

But Gwendolyn had no mind to be held as a tattler.  “I told him,” she continued, husking peanuts busily, “about the nurse-maid at the brick house.”

Jane sat back.

“Ah?” She flashed a glance at Thomas, still shifting about uneasily mid-way between table and door.  Then, “What about the nurse-maid, dearie?”

It was Gwendolyn’s turn to wax enthusiastic.  “Oh, she has such sweet hair!” she exclaimed.  “And she smiles nice!”

Jealousy hardened the freckled visage of the kneeling Jane.  “And she’s taken with you, I suppose,” said she.