The next moment, coming, as it were, on the heels of her sudden good fortune, Gwendolyn closed her right hand and found herself possessed of a bag of candy!—­red-and-white stick-candy of the variety that she had often seen selling at street corners (out of show-cases that went on wheels).  More than once she had longed, and in vain, to stop at one of these show-cases and purchase.  Now she suddenly remembered having done so with a high hand.  The sticks were striped spirally.  Boldly she produced one and fell to sucking it, making more noise with her sucking than ever the strict proprieties of the nursery permitted.

Then, candy in hand, and with the little old gentleman on her right, the Policeman on her left, and Jane trailing behind, doing a one-two-three-and-point, she set forward gayly along the wide, curving road.

CHAPTER XI

As she trotted along, pulling with great relish at a candy-stick, she glanced down at the Policeman every now and then—­and glowed with pride.  On some few well-remembered occasions her chauffeur had condescended to hold a short conversation with her; had even permitted her to sound the clarion of the limousine, with its bright, piercing tones.  All of which had been keenly gratifying.  But here she was, actually conversing with an Officer in full uniform!  And on terms of perfect equality!

She proffered him the bag of spiral sweets.

He cocked his head side wise at it.  “Is that the chewing kind?” he inquired.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

However, he did not seem in the least disappointed.  For he had a mouthful of gum, and this he cracked loudly from time to time—­in a way that excited her admiration and envy.

“I’ve watched you go by our house lots of times,” she confided presently, eager to say something cordial.

“Oh?” said he.  “It’s a beat that does well enough in summer.  But in the wintertime I’d rather be Down-Town.”  Puffing a little,—­for though he was upside down and walking on his hands, he had so far made good progress—­he halted and rested his feet against the lowest limb of a tree that stood close to the road.  Now his cap touched the ground, and his hands were free.  With one white-gloved finger he drew three short lines in the packed dirt.

“And you ought to be Down-Town,” declared the little old gentleman, halting too.  “Because you’re a Policeman with a level head.”

A level head?  Gwendolyn stooped to look.  And saw that it was indeed a fact!

“If I hadn’t one,” answered the Policeman with dignity, “would I be able to stand up comfortably in this remarkable manner?”

“Oh, tee! hee! hee! hee!”

It was the nurse, her sleeve lifted, her blowzy face convulsed.  As she laughed, Gwendolyn saw wrinkle after wrinkle in the black sateen taken up—­with truly alarming rapidity.

“My!” she exclaimed.  “Jane’s always been stout.  But now—!”