But Jane gestured impatiently. Then, making scared eyes, "What has that
_got to do_," she demanded, "_with the wicked men that keep watch of
this house?_"

Gwendolyn swallowed. "What wicked men?" she questioned apprehensively.

"Ah-ha!" triumphed Jane. "I _thought_ that'd catch you! Now just let me
ask you another question: _Why are there bars on the basement windows?_"

Gwendolyn's lips parted to reply. But no words came.

"You don't know," said Jane. "But I'll tell you something: There ain't
no bars on the windows where _poor_ little girls live. For the simple
reason that nobody wants to steal _them_."

Gwendolyn considered the statement, her fingers still busy knotting and
unknotting.

"I tell you," Jane launched forth again, "that if you run about on the
street, like poor children do, you'll be grabbed up by a band of
kidnapers."

"Are--are kidnapers worse than doctors?" asked Gwendolyn.

"Worse than doctors!" scoffed Thomas, "_Heaps_ worse."

"Worse than--than bears?" (The last trace of that rebellious red was
gone.)

Up and down went Jane's head solemnly. "Kidnapers carry knives--big