What she first saw was a face!—­straight ahead, at the top of a steep rise, where the wide road narrowed to a point.  The face was a man’s, and upon it the footlights beat so strongly that each feature was startlingly vivid.  But it was not the fact that she saw only a face that set her knees to trembling weakly—­nor the fact that the face was fearfully distorted; but because it was upside down!

She stared, feeling herself grow cold, her flesh creep.  “Oh, I want to go home!” she gasped.

The face began to move nearer, slowly, inch by inch.  And there sounded a hoarse outcry:  “Hoo! hoo!  Hoo! hoo!”

It was the little old gentleman who reassured her somewhat—­by his even voice.  “Ah!” said he with something of pride, yet as if to himself.  “He realizes that the black eye is a beauty.  And I shouldn’t wonder if he isn’t coming to match it!”

But what temporary confidence she gained, fled when Jane, tettering from side to side, began to threaten in a most terrifying way. “Now, young Miss!” she cried. “Now, you’re goin’ to be sorry you didn’t mind Jane!  Oh, I told you he’d git you some fine day!”

The Man-Who-Makes-Faces retorted—­what, Gwendolyn did not hear.  She was sick with apprehension.  “I guess I won’t find my father and moth-er now,” she whispered miserably.

Then, all at once, she could see more than a face!  Silhouetted against the lighted sky was a figure—­broad shouldered and belted, with swinging cudgel, and visored cap.  It was like those dreaded figures that patroled the Drive—­yet how different!  For as the Policeman came on, his wild face peered between his coat-tails!—­peered between his coat-tails for the reason that he was upside down, and walking on his hands!

“Hoo! hoo! Hoo! hoo!” he clamored again.  His coat flopped about his ears.  His natural merino socks showed where his trousers fell away from his shoes.  His club bumped the side of his head at every stride of his long blue-clad arms.

His identification was complete.  For precisely as Thomas had declared, he was heels over head.

“My!” breathed Gwendolyn, so astonished that she almost forgot to be anxious for her own safety. (What a marvelous Land was this—­where everything was really as it ought to be!)

The Man-Who-Makes-Faces addressed her, smiling down.  “You won’t mind if we don’t start for a minute or two, will you?” he inquired.  “This Officer will probably want to discuss the prices of eyes.  You see, I gave him his black one.  If he wants another, though, I shall be obliged to ask the Piper to collect.”

“Aren’t—­aren’t you afraid of him?” stammered Gwendolyn, in a whisper.

“Afraid?” he echoed, surprised.  “Why, no!  Are you?”

Somehow, she felt ashamed.  “N-n-not very,” she faltered.

No sooner did she partly deny her fear than she experienced a most delicious feeling of security!  And this feeling grew as she watched the nearing Policeman.  For she saw that he was in a mournful state.