It was one of those unpleasant moments when there seemed very little to be said.  She stood on the other foot.

He began polishing once more.  “Then there’s that bee,” he resumed—­

“Moth-er.”

He went on as quickly as possible.  “Of course there are lots of things worse than one of those so-cial hon-ey-gath-er-ing in-sects—­”

“She sees nothing else!  She hears nothing else!”

“Um!  We’ll help her get rid of it!—­if!”

“If?”

“You’ve got a lot to overcome.  Recollect the Policeman?”

She retreated a step.

“Just suppose we meet him! And the Bear that—­”

“My!”

“Yes.  And a certain Doctor.”

“Oh, dear!”

“Bad!  Pretty bad!”

“Where does my moth-er come?”—­timidly.

The question embarrassed.  “Er—­the place is full of carriage-lamps,” he began; “and—­and side-lights, and search-lights, and—­er—­lanterns.”

She looked concerned.  “I can’t guess.”

“Just ordinary lanterns,” he added.  “You see, the Madam comes to—­to Robin Hood’s Barn.”

“Robin Hood’s Barn!”

“Exactly.  Nice day, isn’t it?”

By the expression on his face, Gwendolyn judged that Robin Hood’s Barn—­of which she had often heard—­was a most undesirable spot.  “Is it far?” she asked, swallowing.

“No.  Only—­we’ll have to go around it.”

Somehow, all at once, he seemed the one friend she had.  She put out a hand to him.  “You will go with me?” she begged.  “Oh, I want to find my fath-er, and my moth-er!”

“You want to tell ’em the real truth about those three servants they’re hiring.  Unless I’m much mistaken, your parents have never taken one good square look at those three.”

“Oh, let’s start.”  Now, of a sudden, all the hopes and plans of the past months came crowding back into her mind.  “I want to sit at the grown-up table,” she declared.  “And I want to live in the country, and go to day-school.”

He hung the hand-organ over a shoulder.  “You can do every one of them,” he said, “if we find your father and mother.”

“We’ll find them,” she cried determinedly.

“We’ll find ’em,” he said, “if, as we go along, we don’t leave one—­single—­stone—­unturned.”

“Oh!” she glanced about her, searching the ground.

“Not one,” he repeated.  “And now—­we’ll start.”  He picked up two or three small articles—­an ear, a handful of hair, a plump cheek.

“But there’s a stone right here,” said Gwendolyn.  It was a small one, and lay at her feet, close to the table-leg.

He peered over.  “All right!  Turn it!”

She stooped—­turned the rock—­straightened.

The next moment a chill swept her; the next, she felt a heavy hand upon her shoulder, and clumsy fingers busy with the buttons on the gingham dress.