“Oh?” murmured Gwendolyn.  “You protect ’em?” She looked sidewise at Jane, reflecting that the nurse had given him quite another character.

“Yes; and I protect old, old people.”

“Huh!” snorted the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.  “You protect old people, eh?  Well, how about old organ-grinders?”

“You ought to know,” answered the Officer promptly.  “I guess you didn’t give me that black eye for nothing.”

Whereat the little old gentleman suddenly subsided into silence.

“Yes, I protect old people,” reiterated the other, “and the blind, of course, and the trees and the flowers and the fountains.  Also, the statues.  There’s the General, for instance.  If I didn’t watch out, folks would scribble on him with chalk.”

Gwendolyn assented.  Once more she was beginning to have belief in him.

“Then,” he resumed, “I look after the children, so that—­”

She started.  The children!—­he? “But,” she interrupted, “Jane’s always told me that you grab little boys and girls and carry ’em off.”  Then, fairly shook at her own boldness.

“I never!” denied Jane, sullenly.

He laughed.  “I do carry ’em off.  But where?”

“I don’t know,”—­in a flutter.

“Tell her,” urged the little old gentleman.

The Policeman leaned his feet against the bill-board.  “I’m the man,” said he, “that takes lost little kids to their fathers and mothers.”

To their fathers and mothers!  Gwendolyn came round upon Jane, lifting accusing eyes, pointing an accusing finger, “So!” she breathed.  “You told me he stole ’em!  It isn’t true!” And she wiggled the finger.

Jane edged away, head on one side “Oh, I was jokin’ you,” she declared lightly.  But—­accidentally—–­ she turned aside her grinning front face and gave the others a glimpse of the back one.  And each noted how the square mouth was trembling with anxiety.

“Ah-ha!” exclaimed Gwendolyn, triumphantly.  “I’m finding you out!”

The Policeman crossed his feet against the bill-board, taking care not to injure any of the articles there displayed.  “Yes, I’ve taken a lot of lost little kids to their fathers and mothers,” he repeated.  “And I was just wondering if you—­”

She gave him no chance to finish his sentence.  In her joy at finding that here was another friend, she ran to him and leaned to smile into his face.

“You’ll help me to find my fath-er and moth-er, won’t you?” she cried.

“Cer-tainly!”

“We were starting just as you came,” said the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.

“Well, let’s be off!” His whistle hung by a thin chain from a button-hole of his coat.  He swung it to his lips, Toot!  Toot! It was a cheery blast.