But Gwendolyn persisted. "Thomas has killed el'phunts," she reminded.
"Are--are kidnapers worse than el'phunts?" She drew on her gloves.

Jane sat down and held out the coat. It was of velvet. "Now be still!"
she commanded roughly. "You'll go in the machine if you go at _all_. Do
you hear that?"--giving Gwendolyn a half-turn-about that nearly upset
her. "Do you think I'm goin' to trapse over the hard pavements on my
poor, tired feet just because _you_ take your notions?"

Gwendolyn began to cry--softly. "Oh, I--I thought I wouldn't ever have
to ride again wh-when I was seven," she faltered, putting one
white-gloved hand to her eyes.

"Stop that!" commanded Jane, again, "Dirtyin' your gloves, you wasteful
little thing!"

Now the big sobs came. Down went the yellow head.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" said Thomas. "Little _ladies_ never cry."

"Walk! walk! walk!" scolded Jane, kneeling, and preparing to adjust the
new hat.

The hat had wide ribbons that tied under the chin--new, stiff ribbons.

"Johnnie Bu-Blake didn't fasten _his_ hat on like this," wept
Gwendolyn. She moved her chin from side to side. "He just had a--a
sh-shoe-string."