Jane had just gained the top.  But was come to a standstill.  Over the brow of the hill could be seen only her full face—­like a big red moon.

At the sight, Gwendolyn felt a thrill of joy—­the joy of freedom found again.  “Why, she’s not coming up,” she called out delightedly.  “She’s going down!” And she punctuated her words with a gay skip.

That skip proved unfortunate.  For as ill-luck would have it, she stumbled.  And stumbling stubbed her toe.  The toe struck two small stones that lay partly embedded in the road—­dislodged them—­turned them end for end—­and sent them skimming along the ground.

“Two!” cried the Policeman. “Now who?”

“If only the right kind come!” added the little old gentleman, each of his round eyes rimmed with sudden white.

“I’ll blow my whistle.”  Up swung the shining bit of metal on the end of its chain.

“Blow it at the top of your lungs!”

The Policeman had balanced himself on his head, thrown away his gum, and put the whistle against his lips.  Now he raised it and placed it against his chest, just above his collar-button.  Then he blew.  And through the forest the blast rang and echoed and boomed—­until all the tapers rose and fell, and all the footlights flickered.

Instantly that red moon sank below the crest of the hill.  Puffs of smoke rose in its place.  Then there was borne to the waiting trio a sound of chugging.  And the next instant, with a purr of its engine, and a whirr of its wheels, here into full sight shot forward the limousine!

Gwendolyn paled.  The half-devoured stick of candy slipped from her fingers.  “Oh, I don’t want to be shut up in the car!” she cried out.  “And I won’t!  I won’t! I WON’T!” She scurried behind the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.

The automobile came on.  Its polished sides reflected the varied lights of the forest.  Its hated windows glistened.  One door swung wide, as if yawning for a victim!

The little old gentleman, as he watched it, seemed interested rather than apprehensive.  After a moment, “Recollect my speaking of the Piper?” he asked.

“Y-y-yes.”

At the mention of the Piper, the Policeman stared up.  “The Pip-Piper!” he protested, stammering, and beginning to back away.

At that, Gwendolyn felt renewed anxiety.  “The Piper!” she faltered.  “Oh, I’ll have to settle with him.”  And thrust a searching hand into the patch-pocket.

The Policeman kept on retreating.  “I don’t want to see him,” he declared.  “He made me pay too dear for my whistle.”  And he bumped his head against his night-stick.

The Man-Who-Makes-Faces hastened to him, and halted him by grasping him about his fast-swaying legs.  “You can’t run away from the Piper,” he reminded.  “So—­”

Gwendolyn was no longer frightened.  In her search for money she had found the gold-mounted leather case.  This she now clutched, receiving courage from the stiff upper-lip.