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diff --git a/18582-h/18582-h.htm b/18582-h/18582-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..218426a --- /dev/null +++ b/18582-h/18582-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7233 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'> + <head> + <meta http-equiv='Content-Type' content='text/html;charset=iso-8859-1' /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Gypsy Breynton, by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. + </title> + <style type='text/css'> + /*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1 {text-align: center; clear: both; font-size: 180%;} + h2 {text-align: center; clear: both; font-size: 120%;} + h3 {text-align: center; clear: both; font-size: 100%;} + table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; text-align: center;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} + hr.full {width:100%; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.major {width:75%; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.minor {width:30%; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; + font-size: 90% } + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + .caption {font-size: 80%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Gypsy Breynton, by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Gypsy Breynton + +Author: Elizabeth Stuart Phelps + +Release Date: June 14, 2006 [EBook #18582] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GYPSY BREYNTON *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<table width='300' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='' border='1'> + <col style='width:100%;' /> + <tr> + <td align='center'> +<span style='font-size: 100%;'><br /></span> +<span style='font-size: 220%;'>Gypsy</span><br /> +<span style='font-size: 220%;'>Breynton</span><br /><br /><br /> +<span style='font-size: 80%;'>By</span><br /> +<span style='font-size: 100%;'>ELIZABETH STUART</span><br /> +<span style='font-size: 100%;'>PHELPS</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span style='font-size: 100%;'>New York</span><br /> +<span style='font-size: 100%;'>Dodd, Mead and Company</span><br /><br /> + </td> + </tr> +</table> + + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-001' id='illus-001'></a> +<img src='images/illus-fp.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + + +<hr class='major' /> + +<p style='text-align:center'>Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by<br /> +GRAVES & YOUNG,<br/> +in the Clerk’s Office for the District Court of Massachusetts<br/><br/><br/> +Copyright, 1894, by <span class='smcap'>Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward</span>.</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2>PREFACE.</h2> + +<p>Having been asked to write a preface +to the new edition of the Gypsy books, I +am not a little perplexed. I was hardly +more than a girl myself, when I recorded +the history of this young person; and I +find it hard, at this distance, to photograph +her as she looks, or ought to look to-day. +She does not sit still long enough to be +“taken.” I see a lively girl in pretty short +dresses and very long stockings,—quite a +Tom-boy, if I remember rightly. She paddles +a raft, she climbs a tree, she skates +and tramps and coasts, she is usually very +muddy, and a little torn. There is apt to +be a pin in her gathers; but there is sure +to be a laugh in her eyes. Wherever there +is mischief, there is Gypsy. Yet, wherever +there is fun, and health, and hope, and happiness,—and +I think, wherever there is truthfulness +and generosity,—there is Gypsy, too.</p> + +<p>And now, the publishers tell me that +Gypsy is thirty years old, and that girls +who were not so much as born when I +knew the little lady, are her readers and +her friends to-day.</p> + +<p>Thirty years old? Indeed, it is more than +that! For is it not thirty years since the +publication of her memoirs? And was she, +at that time, possibly sixteen? Forty-six +years? Incredible! How in the world did +Gypsy “grow up?” For that was before toboggans +and telephones, before bicycles and +electric cars, before bangs and puffed +sleeves, before girls studied Greek, and golf-capes +came in. Did she go to college? For +the Annex, and Smith, and Wellesley were +not. Did she have a career? Or take a husband? +Did she edit a Quarterly Review, or +sing a baby to sleep? Did she write poetry, +or make pies? Did she practice medicine, +or matrimony? Who knows? Not even the +author of her being.</p> + +<p>Only one thing I do know: Gypsy never +grew up to be “timid,” or silly, or mean, +or lazy; but a sensible woman, true and +strong; asking little help of other people, +but giving much; an honor to her brave +and loving sex, and a safe comrade to the +girls who kept step with her into middle +life; and I trust that I may bespeak from +their daughters and their scholars a kindly +welcome to an old story, told again.</p> + +<p style='text-align: right'><span class='smcap'>Elizabeth Stuart Phelps</span>.</p> + +<p>Newton Centre, Mass.,<br/> +<i>April, 1895.</i></p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2><a name='Contents' id='Contents'></a>Contents</h2> +<div class='smcap'> +<table border='0' width='500' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents'> +<col style='width:30%;' /> +<col style='width:60%;' /> +<col style='width:10%;' /> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER I</td><td align='left'>WHICH INTRODUCES HER</td><td align='right'><a href='#link-2444'>7</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER II</td><td align='left'>A SPASM OF ORDER</td><td align='right'><a href='#link-5383'>21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER III</td><td align='left'>MISS MELVILLE’S VISITOR</td><td align='right'><a href='#link-2646'>42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER IV</td><td align='left'>GYPSY HAS A DREAM</td><td align='right'><a href='#link-5503'>69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER V</td><td align='left'>WHAT SHE SAW</td><td align='right'><a href='#link-3022'>89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER VI</td><td align='left'>UP IN THE APPLE TREE</td><td align='right'><a href='#link-1042'>105</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER VII</td><td align='left'>JUST LIKE GYPSY</td><td align='right'><a href='#link-8160'>126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER VIII</td><td align='left'>PEACE MAYTHORNE</td><td align='right'><a href='#link-8264'>146</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER IX</td><td align='left'>CAMPING OUT</td><td align='right'><a href='#link-8666'>167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER X</td><td align='left'>THE END OF THE WEEK</td><td align='right'><a href='#link-6542'>202</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XI</td><td align='left'>GYPSY’S OPINION OF BOSTON</td><td align='right'><a href='#link-3975'>213</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XII</td><td align='left'>NO PLACE LIKE HOME</td><td align='right'><a href='#link-5165'>242</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h1>GYPSY BREYNTON</h1> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 320px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-002' id='illus-002'></a> +<img src='images/illus-007.jpg' height='300' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='link-2444' id='link-2444'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_7' id='Page_7'>[Pg 7]</a></span> +<h2>Chapter I</h2><h3>WHICH INTRODUCES HER</h3> +</div> + +<p>“Gypsy Breynton. Hon. Gypsy Breynton, Esq., M. A., D. D., +LL. D., &c., &c. Gypsy Breynton, R. R.”</p> + +<p>Tom was very proud of his handwriting. +It was black and business-like, +round and rolling and readable, and drowned +in a deluge of hair-line flourishes, with little +black curves in the middle of them. It had +been acquired in the book-keeping class of +Yorkbury high school, and had taken a prize<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_8' id='Page_8'>[Pg 8]</a></span> +at the end of the summer term. And therefore +did Tom lean back in his chair, and survey, +with intense satisfaction, the great sheet +of sermon-paper which was covered with his +scrawlings.</p> + +<p>Tom was a handsome fellow, if he did look +very well pleased with himself at that particular +moment. His curly hair was black and bright, +and brushed off from a full forehead, and what +with that faint, dark line of moustache just visible +above his lips, and that irresistible twinkle +to his great merry eyes, it was no wonder +Gypsy was proud of him, as indeed she certainly +was, nor did she hesitate to tell him +so twenty times a day. This was a treatment +of which Tom decidedly approved. Exactly +how beneficial it was to the growth within him +of modesty, self-forgetfulness, and the passive +virtues generally, is another question.</p> + +<p>The room in which Tom was sitting might +have been exhibited with profit by Mr. Barnum, +as a legitimate relic of that chaos and Old<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_9' id='Page_9'>[Pg 9]</a></span> +Night, which the poets tell us was dispelled by +the light of this order-loving creation.</p> + +<p>It had a bed in it, as well as several chairs +and a carpet, but it required considerable +search to discover them, for the billows of feminine +drapery that were piled upon them. +Three dresses,—Tom counted, to make sure,—one +on the bedpost, one rolled up in a heap on +the floor where it had fallen, and one spread +out on the counterpane, with benzine on it. +What with kerosene oil, candle drippings, and +mugs of milk, Gypsy managed to keep one +dress under the benzine treatment all the time; +it was an established institution, and had long +ago ceased to arouse remark, even from Tom. +There was also a cloak upon one chair, and a +crocheted cape tied by the tassels on another. +There was a white tippet hanging on the stovepipe. +There was a bandbox up in one corner +with a pretty hat lying on the outside, its long, +light feather catching the dust; it was three +days now since Sunday. There were also two<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_10' id='Page_10'>[Pg 10]</a></span> +pairs of shoes, one pair of rubbers, and one +slipper under the bed; the other slipper lay +directly in the middle of the room. Then the +wardrobe door was wide open,—it was too full +to stay shut,—upon a sight which, I think, even +Gypsy would hardly want put into print. +White skirts and dressing-sacks; winter hoods +that ought to have been put up in camphor +long ago; aprons hung up by the trimming; +a calico dress that yawned mournfully out of +a twelve-inch tear in the skirt; a pile of stockings +that had waited long, and were likely to +wait longer, for darning; some rubber-boots +and a hatchet.</p> + +<p>The bureau drawers, Tom observed, were +tightly shut,—probably for very good reasons. +The table, at which he sat, was a curiosity to +the speculative mind. The cloth was two-thirds +off, and slipping, by a very gradual +process, to the floor. On the remaining third +stood an inkstand and a bottle of mucilage, as +well as a huge pile of books, a glass tumbler, a<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_11' id='Page_11'>[Pg 11]</a></span> +Parian vase, a jack-knife, a pair of scissors, a +thimble, two spools of thread, a small kite, and +a riding-whip. The rest of the table had been +left free to draw a map on, and was covered +with pencils and rubber, compasses, paper, and +torn geography leaves.</p> + +<p>There were several pretty pictures on the +walls, but they were all hung crookedly; the +curtain at the window was unlooped, and you +could write your name anywhere in the dust +that covered mantel, stove, and furniture.</p> + +<p>And this was Gypsy’s room.</p> + +<p>Tom had spent a longer time in looking at it +than I have taken to tell about it, and when he +was through looking he did one of those things +that big brothers of sixteen long years’ experience +in this life, who are always teasing you +and making fun of you and “preaching” at +you, are afflicted with a chronic and incurable +tendency to do. It is very fortunate that +Gypsy deserved it, for it was really a horrible +thing, girls, and if I were you I wouldn’t let<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_12' id='Page_12'>[Pg 12]</a></span> +my brothers read about it, as you value your +peace of mind, lace collars, clean clothes, good +tempers, and private property generally. I’d +put a pin through these leaves, or fasten them +together with sealing-wax, or cut them out, +before I’d run the risk.</p> + +<p>And what did he do? Why, he put a chair +in the middle of the room, tied a broom to it +(he found it in the corner with a little heap +of dust behind it, as Gypsy had left it when +her mother sent her up to sweep the room +that morning), and dressed it up in the three +dresses, the cloaks and the cape, one above +another, the chair serving as crinoline. Upon +the top of the broom-handle he tied the torn +apron, stuffed out with the rubber-boots, and +pinned on slips of the geography leaves for +features; Massachusetts and Vermont giving +the graceful effect of one pink eye and one +yellow eye, Australia making a very blue +nose, and Japan a small green mouth. The +hatchet and the riding-whip served as arms,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_13' id='Page_13'>[Pg 13]</a></span> +and the whole figure was surmounted by the +Sunday hat that had the dust on its feather. +From under the hem of the lowest dress, +peeped the toes of all the pairs of shoes and +rubbers, and the entire contents of the sliding +table-cloth, down to every solitary pencil, +needle, and crumb of cake, were ranged in a +line on the carpet. To crown the whole, he +pinned upon the image that paper placard upon +which he had been scribbling.</p> + +<p>When his laudable work was completed, this +ingenious and remorseless boy had to stand +and laugh at it for five minutes. If Gypsy +had only seen him then! And Gypsy was +nearer than he thought—in the front door, and +coming up the stairs with a great banging and +singing and laughing, as nobody but Gypsy +could come up stairs. Tom just put his hand +on the window-sill, and gave one leap out on +the kitchen roof, and Gypsy burst in, and +stopped short.</p> + +<p>Tom crouched down against the side of the<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_14' id='Page_14'>[Pg 14]</a></span> +house, and held his breath. For about half a +minute it was perfectly still. Then a soft, +merry laugh broke out all at once on the air, +something as a little brook would splash down +in a sudden cascade on the rocks.</p> + +<p>“O—oh! Did you ever? I never <i>saw</i> anything +so funny! Oh, dear <i>me!</i>”</p> + +<p>Then it was still again, and then the merry +laugh began to spell out the placard.</p> + +<p>“Gypsy Breynton. Hon.—Hon. Gypsy +Breynton,—what? Oh, Esq., M. A., D. D., +LL. D.—what a creature he is! Gypsy +Breynton, R. R. <i>R. R.?</i> I’m sure I don’t +know what that means—Tom! Thom—as!”</p> + +<p>Just then she caught sight of him out on the +ridge-pole, whittling away as coolly as if he +had sat there all his life.</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon,” said Gypsy, politely.</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon,” said Tom.</p> + +<p>“Been whittling out there ever since dinner, +I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_15' id='Page_15'>[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I thought so. Come here a minute.”</p> + +<p>“Come out here,” said Tom. Gypsy climbed +out of the window without the slightest +hesitation, and walked along the ridge-pole +with the ease and fearlessness of a boy. She +had on a pretty blue delaine dress, which was +wet and torn, and all stuck together with +burs; her boots were covered with mud to +the ankle; her white stockings spattered and +brown; her turban was hanging round her +neck by its elastic; her net had come off, +and the wind was blowing her hair all over +her eyes; she had her sack thrown over one +arm, and a basket filled to overflowing, with +flowers and green moss, upon the other.</p> + +<p>“Well, you’re a pretty sight!” said Tom, +leisurely regarding her. Indeed, he was not +far from right. In spite of the mud and the +burs and the tears, and the general dropping-to-pieces +look about her, Gypsy managed, +somehow or other, to look as pretty as a picture, +with her cheeks as red as a coral, and<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_16' id='Page_16'>[Pg 16]</a></span> +the soft brown hair that was tossing about her +eyes. Gypsy’s eyes were the best part of her. +They were very large and brown, and had that +same irresistible twinkle that was in Tom’s +eyes, only a great deal more of it; and then +it was always there. They twinkled when +she was happy and when she was cross; they +twinkled over her school-books; they twinkled, +in spite of themselves, at church and Sabbath +school; and, when she was at play, they shone +like a whole galaxy of stars. If ever Gypsy’s +eyes ceased twinkling, people knew she was +going to be sick. Her hair, I am sorry to say, +was <i>not</i> curly.</p> + +<p>This was Gypsy’s one unalleviated affliction +in life. That a girl could possibly be pretty +with straight hair, had never once entered her +mind. All the little girls in story-books had +curls. Who ever heard of the straight-haired +maiden that made wreaths of the rosebuds, or +saw the fairies, or married the Prince? And +Gypsy’s hair was not only straight, it was absolutely<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_17' id='Page_17'>[Pg 17]</a></span> +uncurlable. A week’s penance “done +up in paper” made no more impression than if +you were to pinch it.</p> + +<p>However, that did not interfere with her +making a bit of a picture, perched up there on +the roof beside Tom, among her burs and her +flowers and her moss, her face all dimples from +forehead to chin.</p> + +<p>“Where have you been?” said Tom, trying +to look severe, and making a most remarkable +failure.</p> + +<p>“Oh, only over to the three-mile swamp +after white violets. Sarah Rowe, she got her +two hands full, and then she just fell splash +into the water, full length, and lost ’em—Oh, +dear me, how I laughed! She did look so +funny.”</p> + +<p>“Your boots are all mud,” said Tom.</p> + +<p>“Who cares?” said Gypsy, with a merry +laugh, tipping all the wet, earthy moss out +on her lap, as she spoke. “See! isn’t there +a quantity? I like moss ’cause it fills up.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_18' id='Page_18'>[Pg 18]</a></span> +Violets are pretty enough, only you <i>do</i> have to +pick ’em one at a time. Innocence comes up +by the handful,—only mine’s most all roots.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what’s going to become of +you,” said Tom, drawing down the corner of +his mouth.</p> + +<p>“Neither do I,” said Gypsy, demurely; “I +wish I did.”</p> + +<p>“You won’t learn to apply yourself to anything,” +persisted Tom. “Work or play, +there’s no system to you. You’re like a——” +Tom paused for a simile—“Well, like a toad +that’s always on the jump.”</p> + +<p>“Ow!” said Gypsy, with a little scream, +“there’s a horrid old snail crawled out my +moss!” and over went moss, flowers, basket, +and all, down the roof and upon the stone +steps below. “There! Good enough for +it!”</p> + +<p>Tom coughed and whittled. Gypsy pulled +her net out of her basket, and put up her hair. +There was a little silence. Nothing had yet<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_19' id='Page_19'>[Pg 19]</a></span> +been said about the image in Gypsy’s room, +and both were determined not to be the first +to speak of it. Gypsy could have patience +enough where a joke was in question, and +as is very apt to be the case, the boy found +himself outwitted. For not a word said Gypsy +of the matter, and half an hour passed and the +supper-bell rang.</p> + +<p>“There!” said Gypsy, jumping up, “I do +declare if it isn’t supper, and I’ve got these +burs to get off and my dress to mend and +my shoes and stockings to change, and—Oh, +dear! I wish people didn’t ever have to do +things, anyway!”</p> + +<p>With this very wise remark, she walked +back across the ridge-pole and climbed in the +window. There was nothing for Tom to do +but follow; which he did slowly and reluctantly. +Something would have to be said +now, at any rate. But not a syllable said +Gypsy. She went to the looking-glass, and +began to brush her hair as unconcernedly as<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_20' id='Page_20'>[Pg 20]</a></span> +if everything were just as she left it and precisely +as she wanted it.</p> + +<p>Tom passed through the room and out of +the door; then he stopped. Gypsy’s eyes +began to twinkle as if somebody had dropped +two little diamonds in them.</p> + +<p>“I say,” said Tom.</p> + +<p>“What do you say?” replied Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“What do you suppose mother would have +to say to you about this <i>looking</i> room?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what she’d say to you, I’m +sure,” said Gypsy, gravely.</p> + +<p>“And you, a great girl, twelve years old!”</p> + +<p>“I should like to know why I’m a railroad, +anyway,” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Who said you were a railroad?”</p> + +<p>“Whoever wrote Gypsy Breynton, R. R., +with my red ink.”</p> + +<p>“That doesn’t stand for railroad.”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t? Well, what?”</p> + +<p>“Regular Romp.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!”</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 309px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-003' id='illus-003'></a> +<img src='images/illus-021.jpg' height='300' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='link-5383' id='link-5383'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_21' id='Page_21'>[Pg 21]</a></span> +<h2>Chapter II</h2><h3>A SPASM OF ORDER</h3> +</div> + +<p>“I can’t help it,” said Gypsy, after +supper; “I can’t possibly help it, +and it’s no use for me to try.”</p> + +<p>“If you cannot help it,” replied +Mrs. Breynton, quietly, “then it +is no fault of yours, but in every way a +suitable and praiseworthy condition of things +that you should keep your room looking as I +would be ashamed to have a servant’s room +look, in my house. People are never to blame +for what they can’t help.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_22' id='Page_22'>[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, there it is again!” said Gypsy, with +the least bit of a blush, “you always stop me +right off with that, on every subject, from +saying my prayers down to threading a +needle.”</p> + +<p>“Your mother was trained in the new-school +theology, and she applies her principles +to things terrestrial as well as things +celestial,” observed her father, with an amused +smile.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said Gypsy, without the least +idea what he was talking about.</p> + +<p>“Besides,” added Mrs. Breynton, finishing, +as she spoke, the long darn in Gypsy’s dress, +“I think people who give right up at little difficulties, +on the theory that they can’t help it, +are——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know that too!”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“Cowards.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly.”</p> + +<p>“I hate cowards,” said Gypsy, in a little<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_23' id='Page_23'>[Pg 23]</a></span> +flash, and then stood with her back half turned, +her eyes fixed on the carpet, as if she were puzzling +out a proposition in Euclid, somewhere +hidden in its brown oak-leaves.</p> + +<p>“Take a chair, and sit by the window and +think of it,” remarked Tom, in his most aggravating +tone.</p> + +<p>“That’s precisely what I intend to do, +sir,” said Gypsy; and was as good as +her word. She went up-stairs and shut her +door, and, what was remarkable, nobody saw +anything more of her. What was still more +remarkable, nobody heard anything of her. +For a little while it was perfectly still overhead.</p> + +<p>“I hope she isn’t crying,” said Mr. Breynton, +who was always afraid Gypsy was doing +something she ought not to do, and who was in +about such a state of continual astonishment +over the little nut-brown romp that had been +making such commotion in his quiet home for +twelve years, as a respectable middle-aged and<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_24' id='Page_24'>[Pg 24]</a></span> +kind-hearted oyster might be, if a lively young +toad were shut up in his shell.</p> + +<p>“Catch her!” said the more appreciative +Tom; “I don’t believe she cries four times a +year. That’s the best part of Gyp.; with all her +faults, there’s none of your girl’s nonsense +about her.”</p> + +<p>Another person in the room, who had listened +to the conversation, went off at this +period into a sudden fit of curiosity concerning +Gypsy, and started up-stairs to find her. This +was Master Winthrop Breynton, familiarly and +disrespectfully known as Winnie. A word +must be said as to this young person; for, +whatever he may be in the eyes of other people, +he was of considerable importance in his own. +He had several distinguishing characteristics, as +is apt to be the case with gentlemen of his age +and experience. One was that he was five +lengthy and important years of age; of which +impressive fact his friends, relatives, and +chance acquaintances, were informed at every<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_25' id='Page_25'>[Pg 25]</a></span> +possible and impossible opportunity. Another +was, that there were always, <i>at least</i>, half a +dozen buttons off from his jacket, at all times +and places, though his long-suffering mother +lived in her work-basket. A third, lay in the +fact that he never walked. He trotted, he +cantered, he galloped; he progressed in jerks, +in jumps, in somersets; he crawled up-stairs like +a little Scotch plaid spider, on “all fours;” he +came down stairs on the banisters, the balance +of power lying between his steel buttons and +the smooth varnish of the mahogany. On several +memorable occasions, he has narrowly +escaped pitching head first into the hall lamp. +His favorite method of locomotion, however, +consisted in a series of <i>thumps</i>, beginning with +a gentle tread, and increasing in impetus by +mathematical progression till it ended in a +thunder-clap. A long hall to him was bliss +unalloyed; the bare garret floor a dream of delight, +and the plank walk in the woodshed an +ecstasy. Still a fourth peculiarity was a pleasing<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_26' id='Page_26'>[Pg 26]</a></span> +habit when matters went contrary to his expressed +wishes, of throwing himself full length +upon the floor without any warning whatsoever, +squirming around in his clothes, and crying +at the top of his lungs. Added to this is +the fact that, for some unaccountable reason, +Winnie’s eyes were so blue, and Winnie’s laugh +so funny, and Winnie’s hands were so pink +and little, that somehow or other Winnie +didn’t get half the scoldings he deserved. +But who is there of us that does, for that +matter?</p> + +<p>Well, Winnie it was who stamped across +the hall, and crawled up-stairs hand over +hand, and stamped across the upper entry, +and pounded on Gypsy’s door, and burst it +open, and slammed in with one of Winnie’s +inimitable shouts.</p> + +<p>“Oh <i>Win</i>nie!”</p> + +<p>“I say, father wants to know if——”</p> + +<p>“Just <i>see</i> what you’ve done!”</p> + + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-004' id='illus-004'></a> +<img src='images/illus-027.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<p>Winnie stopped short, in considerable astonishment.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_27' id='Page_27'>[Pg 27]</a></span> +Gypsy was sitting on the +floor beside one of her bureau +drawers which she +had pulled out +of its place. That +drawer was a +sight well worth +seeing, by the +way; but of that +presently. Gypsy +had taken out of +it a little box +(without a cover, +like all Gypsy’s boxes) filled with beadwork,—collars, +cuffs, nets, and bracelets, +all tumbled in together, and as much as a +handful of loose beads of every size, color, +and description, thrown down on the bottom. +Gypsy was sorting these beads, and this was +what had kept her so still. Now Winnie, in +slamming into the room after his usual style, +had stepped directly into the box, crushed its<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_28' id='Page_28'>[Pg 28]</a></span> +pasteboard flat, and scattered the unlucky +beads to all four points of the compass.</p> + +<p>Gypsy sat for about half a minute watching +the stream of crimson and blue and black and +silver and gold, that was rolling away under +the bed and the chair and the table, her face +a perfect little thunder-cloud. Then she took +hold of Winnie’s shoulder, without any remarks, +and—shook him.</p> + +<p>It was a little shake, and, if it had been +given in good temper, would not have struck +Winnie as anything but a pleasant joke. But +he knew, from Gypsy’s face, it was no joke; +and, feeling his dignity insulted, down he went +flat upon the floor with a scream and a jerk +that sent two fresh buttons flying off from +his jacket.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Breynton ran up-stairs in a great +hurry.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, Gypsy?”</p> + +<p>“She sh—sh—shooked me—the old thing!” +sobbed Winnie.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_29' id='Page_29'>[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>“He broke my box and lost all my +beads, and I’ve got them all to pick up +just as I was trying to put my room in +order, and so I was mad,” said Gypsy, +frankly.</p> + +<p>“Winnie, you may go down stairs,” said +Mrs. Breynton, “you must learn to be more +careful with Gypsy’s things.”</p> + +<p>Winnie slid down on the banisters, and Mrs. +Breynton shut the door.</p> + +<p>“What are you trying to do, Gypsy?”</p> + +<p>“Pick up my room,” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“But what had that to do with stringing +the beads?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I—don’t know exactly. I took out +my drawer to fix it up, and my beads were +all in a muss, and so I thought I’d sort them, +and then I forgot.”</p> + +<p>“I see several things in the room that want +putting in order before a little box of beads,” +said Mrs. Breynton, with a smile that was +half amused, half sorrowful. Gypsy cast a<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_30' id='Page_30'>[Pg 30]</a></span> +deprecating glance around the room, and into +her mother’s face.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I <i>did</i> mean to shut the wardrobe door, +and I thought I’d taken the broom down +stairs as much as could be, but that everlasting +Tom had to go and—— Oh dear! did you +ever see anything so funny in all your life?” +And Gypsy looked at the image, and broke +into one of her rippling laughs.</p> + +<p>“It is really a serious matter, Gypsy,” said +Mrs. Breynton, looking somewhat troubled at +the laugh.</p> + +<p>“I know it,” said Gypsy, sobering down, +“and I came up-stairs on purpose to put everything +to rights, and then I was going to live +like other people, and keep my stockings +darned, and—then I had to go head first into a +box of beads, and that was the end of me. It’s +always so.”</p> + +<p>“You know, Gypsy, it is one of the signs of +a lady to keep one’s room in order; I’ve told +you so many times.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_31' id='Page_31'>[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I know it,” said Gypsy, forlornly; “don’t +you remember when I was a little bit of a +thing, my telling you that I guessed God made +a mistake when he made me, and put in some +ginger-beer somehow, that was always going +off? It’s pretty much so; the cork’s always +coming out at the wrong time.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mrs. Breynton, with a smile, +“I’m glad you’re trying afresh to hammer it +in. Pick up the beads, and tear down the +image, and go to work with a little system. +You’ll be surprised to find how fast the room +will come to order.”</p> + +<p>“I think,” she added, as she shut the door, +“that it was hardly worth while to——”</p> + +<p>“To shake Winnie?” interrupted Gypsy, demurely. +“No, not at all; I ought to have +known better.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Breynton did not offer to help Gypsy in +the task which bade fair to be no easy one, of +putting her room in order; but, with a few encouraging +words, she went down stairs and left<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_32' id='Page_32'>[Pg 32]</a></span> +her. It would have been far easier for her to +have gone to work and done the thing herself, +than to see Gypsy’s face so clouded and discouraged. +But she knew it would be the ruin +of Gypsy. Her only chance of overcoming her +natural thoughtlessness, and acquiring the habits +of a lady, lay in the persistent doing over +and over again, by her own unaided patience, +these very things that came so hard to her. +Gypsy understood this perfectly, and had the +good sense to think her mother was just right +about it. It was not want of training, that +gave Gypsy her careless fashion of looking +after things. Mrs. Breynton was a wise, as +well as a loving mother, and had done everything +in the way of punishment, reproof, warning, +persuasion, and argument, that mothers +can do for the faults of children. Nor was it +for want of a good example, Mrs. Breynton +was the very pink of neatness. It was a +natural <i>kink</i> in Gypsy, that was as hard to get +out as a knot in an apple-tree, and which depended<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_33' id='Page_33'>[Pg 33]</a></span> +entirely on the child’s own will for its +eradication. This disorder in her room and +about her toilet was only one development of +it, and by no means a fixed or continued one. +Gypsy could be, and half the time she was, as +orderly and lady-like as anybody. She did +everything by fits and starts. As Tom said, +she was “always on the jump.” If her dress +didn’t happen to be torn and her room dusty, +why, she had a turn of forgetting everything. +If she didn’t forget, she was always getting +hurt. If it wasn’t that, she lost her temper +every five minutes. Or else she was making +terrible blunders, and hurting people’s feelings; +something was always the matter; and +some one was always on the <i>qui vive</i>, wondering +what Gypsy was going to do next.</p> + +<p>Yet, in spite of it all, the person who did not +love Gypsy Breynton (provided he knew her) +was not to be found in Yorkbury. Whether +there was any reason for this, you can judge +for yourself as the story goes on.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_34' id='Page_34'>[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<p>After her mother had gone down, Gypsy +went to work in earnest. She picked up the +beads, and put them back into the drawer +which she left upon the floor. Then she +attacked Tom’s image. It took her fully fifteen +minutes merely to get the thing to +pieces, for the true boy-fashion in which it +was tied, pinned, sewed, and nailed together, +would have been a puzzle to any feminine +mind. She would have called Tom up to help +her, but she was just a little bit too proud.</p> + +<p>The broom she put out in the entry the +first thing; then, remembering that that was +not systematic, she carried it down stairs and +hung it on its nail. The shoes and the dresses, +the cape and the cloak, the tippet and the hat, +she put in their places; the torn apron and +the unmended stockings she tumbled into her +basket, then went back and folded them up +neatly; she also made a journey into the woodshed +expressly to put the hatchet where it +belonged, on the chopping-block. By this<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_35' id='Page_35'>[Pg 35]</a></span> +time it was quite dark, but she lighted a +lamp, and went at it afresh. Winnie came +up to the entry door, and, at a respectful distance, +told her they were “popping” corn +down stairs; but she shook her head, and +proceeded with her dusting like a hero. Tom +whistled for her up the chimney-flue; but she +only gave a little thump on the floor, and said +she was busy.</p> + +<p>It was like walking into a labyrinth to dispose +of the contents of that table-cloth. How +to put away the pencils and the rubber, when +the drawing-box was lost; how to collect all +the cookey-crumbs and wandering needles, +that slipped out of your finger as fast as you +took hold of them; where on earth to put +those torn geography leaves, that wouldn’t +stay in the book, and couldn’t be thrown away; +where <i>was</i> the cork to the inkstand? and how +should she hang up the riding-whip, with the +string gone? These were questions that might +well puzzle a more systematic mind than Gypsy’s.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_36' id='Page_36'>[Pg 36]</a></span> +However, in due time, the room was +restored to an order that was delightful to +see,—for, if Gypsy made up her mind to a +thing, she could do it thoroughly and skilfully,—and +she returned to the bureau drawer. +This drawer was a fair specimen of the rest of +Gypsy’s drawers, shelves, and cupboards, and +their name was Legion. Moreover, it was an +“upper drawer,” and where is the girl that +does not know what a delicate science is involved +in the rearranging of these upper +drawers? So many laces, and half-worn +collars that don’t belong there, are always +getting in; loose coppers have such a way +of accumulating in the crevices; all your +wandering pins and hair-pins make it a rendezvous +by a species of free-masonry utterly +inexplicable; then your little boxes fit in so +tightly, and never have room to open, +and are always getting their covers caught +when you shut the drawer, and, when you try +to keep them down, you pinch your fingers so.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_37' id='Page_37'>[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<p>Please to imagine, O orderly readers! who +keep every pin in its proper place, the worst +looking upper drawer that your horrified eyes +ever beheld, and you will have some idea of +this drawer of Gypsy’s.</p> + +<p>There were boxes large, and boxes small, +boxes round, square, and oblong; boxes with +covers (only two), and boxes without; handkerchiefs, +under-sleeves, collars,—both clean +and soiled,—laces and ribbons, and bows and +nets; purses and old gloves, a piece of soap, +a pile of letters, scratched and scattering +jewelry, a piece of dried cake, several +fans all covered with dust, and nobody +knew what not, in the lower strata, out of +sight.</p> + +<p>Gypsy sat and looked at it for about two +minutes in utter despair. Then she just +turned the whole thing bottom upwards in a +great heap on the floor, and began to investigate +matters, with her cheeks very red.</p> + +<p>Presently, the family down stairs heard a<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_38' id='Page_38'>[Pg 38]</a></span> +little scream. Winnie stamped up to see what +was the matter.</p> + +<p>“Why, I’ve found my grammar!” said +Gypsy. “It’s the one in marble covers I lost +ever—ever so long ago, and had to get a new +one. It was right down at the bottom of the +drawer!”</p> + +<p>Pretty soon there was another little scream, +and Gypsy called down the chimney:</p> + +<p>“Tom Breynton! What do you think? I’ve +found that dollar bill of yours you thought +I’d burnt up.”</p> + +<p>After awhile there came still another +scream, a pretty loud one this time. Mrs. +Breynton came up to see what had happened.</p> + +<p>“I’ve cut my hand,” said Gypsy, faintly; +“there was a great heap of broken glass in +my drawer!”</p> + +<p>“<i>Broken glass!</i>”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’m sure I don’t know how it came +there; I guess I was going to frame a picture.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_39' id='Page_39'>[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Breynton bound up her finger, and +went down again. She was no more than +fairly seated before there came from up-stairs, +not a scream, but one of the merriest +laughs that ever was heard.</p> + +<p>“What is to pay, now?” called Tom, from +the entry.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear!” gasped Gypsy; “it’s too funny +for anything! If here isn’t the <i>carving-knife</i> +we scolded Patty for losing last winter, and—Oh, +Tom, just look here!—my stick of +peanut candy, that I thought I’d eaten up, all +stuck on to my lace under-sleeves!”</p> + +<p>It was past Gypsy’s bed-time when the +upper drawer was fairly in order and put +back in its place. Three others remained to +go through the same process, as well as wardrobe +shelves innumerable. Gypsy, with her +characteristic impulsiveness, would have sat +up till twelve o’clock to complete the work, +but her mother said “No” very decidedly, and +so it must wait till to-morrow.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_40' id='Page_40'>[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>Tom came in just as everything was done, +and Gypsy had drawn a long breath and +stood up to look, with great satisfaction, all +around her pleasant, orderly room.</p> + +<p>“Well done! I say, Gypsy, what a jewel +you are when you’re a mind to be.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, I am. Have you just found it +out?”</p> + +<p>“Well, you know you’re a diamond, decidedly +in the rough, as a general thing. You +need cutting down and polishing.”</p> + +<p>“And you to polish me? Well, I like the +looks of this room, anyhow. It <i>is</i> nice to +have things somewhere where you won’t trip +over them when you walk across the room—only +if somebody else would pick ’em up for +me.”</p> + +<p>“How long do you suppose it will last?” +asked Tom, with an air of great superiority.</p> + +<p>“Tom,” said Gypsy, solemnly; “that’s a +serious question.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_41' id='Page_41'>[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>“It might last forever if you have a mind +to have it,—come now, Gyp., why not?”</p> + +<p>“That’s a long time,” said Gypsy, shaking +her head; “I wouldn’t trust myself two +inches. To-morrow I shall be in a hurry to +go to school; then I shall be in a hurry to +go to dinner; then I shall be in a <i>ter</i>rible hurry +to get off with Sarah Rowe, and so it goes. +However, I’ll see. I feel, to-night, precisely +as if I should never want to take a single pin +out of those little black squares I’ve put them +into on the cushion.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy found herself in a hurry the next +day and the next, and is likely to, to the end +of her life, I am afraid. But she seemed to +have taken a little gasp of order, and for a +long time no one had any complaint to make +of Gypsy’s room or Gypsy’s toilet.</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 401px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-005' id='illus-005'></a> +<img src='images/illus-042.jpg' height='300' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='link-2646' id='link-2646'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_42' id='Page_42'>[Pg 42]</a></span> +<h2>Chapter III</h2><h3>MISS MELVILLE’S VISITOR</h3> +</div> + +<p>As will be readily supposed, Gypsy’s +name was not her original one; +though it might have been, +for there have been actual Billys and Sallys, +who began and ended Billys and Sallys only.</p> + +<p>Gypsy’s real name was an uncouth one—Jemima. +It was partly for this reason, partly +for its singular appropriateness, that her +nickname had entirely transplanted the lawful +and ugly one.</p> + +<p>This subject of nicknames is a curiosity. +All rules of euphony, fitness, and common +sense, that apply to other things, are utterly<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_43' id='Page_43'>[Pg 43]</a></span> +at fault here. A baby who cannot talk +plainly, dubs himself “Tuty,” or “Dess,” or +“Pet,” or “Honey,” and forthwith becomes +Tuty, Dess, Pet, or Honey, the rest of his +mortal life. All the particularly cross and +disagreeable girls are Birdies and Sunbeams. +All the brunettes with loud voices and red +hands, who are growing up into the “strong-minded +women,” are Lilies and Effies and +Angelinas, and other etherial creatures; while +the little shallow, pink-and-white young ladies +who cry very often and “get nervous,” are +quite as likely to be royal Constance, or Elizabeth, +without any nickname at all.</p> + +<p>But Gypsy’s name had undoubtedly been +foreordained, so perfectly was it suited to +Gypsy. For never a wild rover led a more +untamed and happy life. Summer and winter, +seed-time and harvest, found Gypsy out +in the open air, as many hours out of the +twenty-four as were not absolutely bolted and +barred down into the school-room and dreamland.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_44' id='Page_44'>[Pg 44]</a></span> +A fear of the weather never entered +into Gypsy’s creed; drenchings and freezings +were so many soap-bubbles,—great fun +while they lasted, and blown right away by +dry stockings and mother’s warm fire; so +where was the harm? A good brisk thunderstorm +out in the woods, with the lightning +quivering all about her and the thunder crashing +over her, was simple delight. A day of +snow and sleet, with drifts knee-deep, and +winds like so many little knives, was a festival. +If you don’t know the supreme bliss of a +two-mile walk on such a day, when you have +to shut your eyes, and wade your way, then +Gypsy would pity you. Not a patch of woods, +a pond, a brook, a river, a mountain, in the +region (and there, in Vermont, there were +plenty of them), but Gypsy knew it by heart.</p> + +<p>There was not a trout-brook for miles where +she had not fished. There was hardly a tree +she had not climbed, or a fence or stone-wall—provided, +of course, that it was away from the<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_45' id='Page_45'>[Pg 45]</a></span> +main road and people’s eyes—that she had not +walked. Gypsy could row and skate and +swim, and play ball and make kites, and coast +and race, and drive, and chop wood. Altogether +Gypsy seemed like a very pretty, +piquant mistake; as if a mischievous boy had +somehow stolen the plaid dresses, red cheeks, +quick wit, and little indescribable graces of a +girl, and was playing off a continual joke on +the world. Old Mrs. Surly, who lived opposite, +and wore green spectacles, used to roll up +her eyes, and say What <i>would</i> become of +that child? A whit cared Gypsy for Mrs. +Surly! As long as her mother thought the +sport and exercise in the open air a fine thing +for her, and did not complain of the torn +dresses oftener than twice a week, she would +roll her hoop and toss her ball under Mrs. +Surly’s very windows, and laugh merrily to +see the green glasses pushed up and taken off +in horror at what Mrs. Surly termed an “impropriety.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_46' id='Page_46'>[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<p>Therefore it created no surprise in the family +one morning, when school-time came and +passed, and Gypsy did not make her +appearance, that she was reported to be +“making a raft” down in the orchard +swamp.</p> + +<p>“Run and call her, Winnie,” said Mrs. +Breynton. “Tell her it is very late, and I +want her to come right up,—remember.”</p> + +<p>“Yes mum,” said Winnie, with unusual +alacrity, and started off down the lane as fast +as his copper-toed feet could carry him. It +was quite a long lane, and a very pleasant one +in summer. There was a row of hazel-nut +bushes, always green and sweet, on one side, +and a stone-wall on the other, with the broad +leaves and tiny blossoms of a grape-vine trailing +over it. The lane opened into a wide field +which had an apple-orchard at one end of it, +and sloped down over quite a little hill into a +piece of marshy ground, where ferns and white +violets, anemones, and sweet-flag grew in<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_47' id='Page_47'>[Pg 47]</a></span> +abundance. In the summer, the water was apt +to dry up. In the spring, it was sometimes +four feet deep. It was a pleasant spot, for the +mountains lay all around it, and shut it in with +their great forest-arms, and the sharp peaks +that were purple and crimson and gold, under +passing shadows and fading sunsets. And, +then, is there any better fun than to paddle in +the water?</p> + +<p>Gypsy looked as if she thought not, when +Winnie suddenly turned the corner, and ran +down the slope.</p> + +<p>She had finished her raft, and launched it +off from the root of an old oak-tree that grew +half in the water, and, with a long pole, had +pushed herself a third of the way across the +swamp. Her dress was tucked up over her +bright balmoral, and the ribbons of her hat +were streaming in the wind. She had no mittens +or gloves on her hands, which were very +pink and plump, and her feet were incased in +high rubber boots.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_48' id='Page_48'>[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Hullo!” said Winnie, walking out on the +root of the oak.</p> + +<p>“Hilloa!” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“I say—that’s a bully raft.”</p> + +<p>“To be sure it is.”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t had a ride on a raft since—why +since ’leven or six years ago when I was a little +boy. I shouldn’t wonder if it was twenty-three +years, either.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can’t bear people that hint. Why +don’t you say right out, if you want a ride?”</p> + +<p>“I want a ride,” said Winnie, without any +hesitation.</p> + +<p>“Wait till I turn her round. I’ll bring her +up on the larboard side,” replied Gypsy, in +the tone of an old salt of fifty years’ experience.</p> + +<p>So she paddled up to the oak-tree, and Winnie +jumped on board.</p> + +<p>“I guess we’ll have time to row across and +back before school,” said Gypsy, pushing off.</p> + +<p>Winnie maintained a discreet silence.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_49' id='Page_49'>[Pg 49]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose it’s very late,” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Oh, just look at that toad with a green +head, down in the water!” observed Winnie.</p> + +<p>They paddled on a little ways in silence.</p> + +<p>“What makes your cheeks so red?” asked +Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“I guess it’s scarlet fever, or maybe it’s +appleplexy, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!”</p> + +<p>Just then Winnie gave a little scream.</p> + +<p>“Look here—Gyp.! The boat’s goin’clock down. +I don’t want to go very much. I saw another +toad down there.”</p> + +<p>“I declare!” said Gypsy, “we’re going to +be swamped, as true as you live! It isn’t +strong enough to bear two,—sit still, Winnie. +Perhaps we’ll get ashore.”</p> + +<p>But no sooner had she spoken the words +than the water washed up about her ankles, +and Winnie’s end of the raft went under. The +next she knew, they were both floundering in +the water.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_50' id='Page_50'>[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + +<p>It chanced to be about three feet and a half +deep, very cold, and somewhat slimy. Gypsy +had a strong impression that a frog jumped +into her neck when she plunged, head first, +into the deep mud at the bottom. After a +little splashing and gasping, she regained her +feet, and stood up to her elbows in the water. +But what she could do, Winnie could not. He +had sunk in the soft mud, and even if he had +had the courage to stand up straight, the water +would have been above his head. But it had +never occurred to him to do otherwise than +lie gasping and flat on the bottom, where +he was drowning as fast as he possibly +could.</p> + +<p>Gypsy pulled him out and carried him +ashore. She wrung him out a little, and set +him down on the grass, and then, by way of +doing something, she took her dripping handkerchief +out of her dripping pocket and wiped +her hands on it.</p> + +<p>“O—o—oh!” gasped Winnie; “I never did—you’d<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_51' id='Page_51'>[Pg 51]</a></span> +ought to know—you’ve just gone’n +drownded me!”</p> + + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-006' id='illus-006'></a> +<img src='images/illus-051.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<p>“What a story!” said Gypsy; “you’re no +more drowned than I +am. To be sure you +<i>are</i> rather wet,” she added, with a disconsolate +attempt at a laugh.</p> + +<p>“You oughtn’t to have tooken me out on<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_52' id='Page_52'>[Pg 52]</a></span> +that old raft,” glared Winnie, through the +shower of water-drops that rained down from +his forehead, “you know you hadn’t! I’ll just +tell mother. I’ll get sick and be died after it, +you see if I don’t.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said Gypsy, giving herself a +little shake, very much as a pretty brown +spaniel would do, who had been in swimming.</p> + +<p>“You may do as you like. Who teased to +go on the raft, I’d like to know?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Besides</i>,” resumed Winnie, with an impressive +cough; “you’re late to school, ’cause +mother, she said you was to come right up +when she sent me down, only I—well I guess, +I b’lieve I forgot to tell you,—I rather think I +did. Anyways, you’re late,—<i>so</i>!”</p> + +<p>Gypsy looked at Winnie, and Winnie looked +at Gypsy. There was an awful silence.</p> + +<p>“Winnie Breynton,” said Gypsy, solemnly, +“if you don’t get one whipping!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care to hear folks talk,” interrupted +Winnie, with dignity, “I am five years old.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_53' id='Page_53'>[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gypsy’s reply is not recorded.</p> + +<p>I have heard it said that when Tom espied +the two children coming up the lane, he went +to his mother with the information that the +fishman was somewhere around, only he had +sent his fishes on ahead of him. They appeared +to have been freshly caught, and +would, he thought, make several dinners; +but I cannot take the responsibility of the +statement.</p> + +<p>It was very late, much nearer ten o’clock +than nine, when Gypsy was fairly metamorphosed +into a clean, dry, very penitent-looking +child.</p> + +<p>She hurried off to school, leaving Winnie +and his mother in close conference. Exactly +what happened on the occasion of that interview, +has never been made known to an inquiring +public.</p> + +<p>On the way to school Gypsy had as many +as six sober thoughts; a larger number than +she was usually capable of in forty-eight<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_54' id='Page_54'>[Pg 54]</a></span> +hours. One was, that it was too bad she had +got so wet. Another was, that she really +supposed it was her business to know when +school-time came, no matter where she was +or what she was doing. Another, that she +had made her mother a great deal of trouble. +A fourth was, that she was sorry to be so +late at school—it always made Miss Melville +look so; and then a bad mark was not, on +the whole, a desirable thing. Still a fifth +was, that she would never do such a thing +again as long as she lived—<i>never</i>. The sixth +lay in a valiant determination to behave herself +the rest of this particular day. She would +study hard. She would get to the head of the +class. She wouldn’t put a single pin in the +girls’ chairs, nor tickle anybody, nor make up +funny faces, nor whisper, nor make one of the +girls laugh, not one, not even that silly Delia +Guest, who laughed at nothing,—why, you +couldn’t so much as make a doll out of your +handkerchief and gloves, and hang it on your<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_55' id='Page_55'>[Pg 55]</a></span> +pen-handle, but what she had to go into a +spasm over it.</p> + +<p>No, she wouldn’t do a single funny thing +all day. She would just sit still and look +sober and sorry, and not trouble Miss Melville +in the least. Her mind was quite made up.</p> + +<p>Just as she had arrived at this conclusion +she came to the school-house door. Gypsy +and a number of other girls, both her own +age and younger, who either were not prepared +to enter the high school, or whose parents +preferred the select school system, composed +Miss Melville’s charge. They were most +of them pleasant girls, and Miss Melville was +an unusually successful teacher, and as dearly +loved as a judicious teacher can be. The +school-house was a bit of a brown building +tucked away under some apple-trees on a +quiet by-road. It had been built for a district +school, but had fallen into disuse years +ago, and Miss Melville had taken possession +of it.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_56' id='Page_56'>[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gypsy slackened her pace as she passed +under the apple-boughs, where the tiny, budding +leaves filled all the air with faint fragrance. +It was nearly recess time; she knew, +because she could hear, through the windows, +the third geography class reciting. It was +really too bad to be so late. She went up the +steps slowly, the corners of her mouth drawn +down as penitently as Gypsy’s mouth could +well be.</p> + +<p>Just inside the door she stopped. A quick +color ran all over her face, her eyes began to +twinkle like sparks from a great fire of hickory, +and, in an instant, every one of those +six sober thoughts was gone away somewhere—nobody +could have told where; and the funniest +little laugh broke the silence of the entry.</p> + +<p>The most interested observer could not have +told what Gypsy saw that was so very amusing. +The entry was quite deserted. Nothing was to +be seen but a long row of girls’ “things,” +hanging up on the nails—hats and bonnets,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_57' id='Page_57'>[Pg 57]</a></span> +tippets, sacks, rubbers, and baskets; apparently +as demure and respectable as hats, bonnets, +tippets, sacks, rubbers, and baskets could +be. Yet there Gypsy stood for as much as a +minute laughing away quietly to herself, as if +she had come across some remarkable joke.</p> + +<p>About ten minutes after, some one knocked +at the school-room door. Miss Melville laid +down her geography.</p> + +<p>“Cape Ann, Cape Hatteras, Cape—may I go +to the door?” piped little Cely Hunt, holding +up her hand. Miss Melville nodded and Cely +went. She opened the door—and jumped.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, Cely?—Oh!” For +there stood the funniest old woman that Cely +or Miss Melville had ever seen. She had on a +black dress, very long and very scant, that +looked as if it were made out of an old waterproof +cloak. Over that, she wore a curious +drab-silk sack, somewhat faded and patched, +with all the edges of the seams outside. Over +that, was a plaid red-and-green shawl, tied<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_58' id='Page_58'>[Pg 58]</a></span> +about her waist. There was a little black +shawl over that, and a green tippet wound +twice around her throat with the ends tucked +in under the shawl. She had a pair of black +mitts on her hands, and she carried a basket. +Her face no one could see, for it was covered +with a thick green veil, tied closely about her +bonnet.</p> + +<p>Cely gave a little scream, and ran behind the +door. Miss Melville stepped down from the +platform, and went to meet the visitor.</p> + +<p>“Good arternoon,” said the old woman, in a +very shrill voice.</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon,” said Miss Melville, politely.</p> + +<p>“I come to see the young uns,” piped the +old woman. “I ben deown teown fur some +eggs, an’clock I heerd the little creaturs a sayin’clock +of their lessons as I come by, an’clock thinks says +I to myself, says I, bless their dear hearts, I’ll +go in an’clock see ’em, says I, an’clock I’ll thank ye +kindly for a seat, for I’m pretty nigh beat out.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_59' id='Page_59'>[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>The scholars all began to laugh. Miss Melville, +somewhat reluctantly, handed her visitor +a chair by the door, but did not ask her upon +the platform, as the visitor seemed to expect.</p> + +<p>“There’s a drefful draught here on my +neck,” she muttered, discontentedly; “an’clock I’m +terribly afflicted with rheumatiz mostly. Can’t +see much of the young uns here, nuther.”</p> + +<p>“I doubt if there is much here that will interest +you,” observed Miss Melville, looking at +her keenly. “You may rest yourself, and +then I think you had better go. Visitors +always disturb the children.”</p> + +<p>“Bless their dear hearts!” cried the old +woman, shrilly. “They needn’t be afraid of +me—<i>I</i> wouldn’t hurt ’em. Had a little angel +boy once myself; he’s gone to Californy now, +an’clock I’m a lone, lorn widdy. I say—little gal!” +and the stranger pointed her finger (it trembled +a little) at Sarah Rowe, who had grown quite +red in the face with her polite efforts not to +laugh. “Little gal, whar’s yer manners?—laughin’clock<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_60' id='Page_60'>[Pg 60]</a></span> +at a poor ole creetur like me! Come +out here, and le’s hear ye say that beautiful +psalm of Dr. Watts—now!”</p> + +<p style='margin-left: 2em;'>“How doth the little busy bee!”</p> + +<p>But just then something happened for which +the old woman and the scholars were equally +unprepared. Miss Melville looked through the +green veil straight into the old woman’s eyes, +and said just one word. She said it very quietly, +and she said it without a smile. It was</p> + +<p>“Gypsy!”</p> + +<p>There was a great hush. Sarah Rowe was +the first to break it.</p> + +<p>“Why, that’s my sack turned wrong side out!”</p> + +<p>“And those are my mitts!” said Agnes +Gaylord.</p> + +<p>“If you please, Miss Melville, that’s my +black shawl,—I know it by the border,” piped +a very little girl in mourning.</p> + +<p>“I do believe that’s my waterproof, and +Lucy’s plaid shawl,” giggled Delia Guest. +“Did you <i>ever</i>?”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_61' id='Page_61'>[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>“And my green veil,” put in somebody else, +faintly.</p> + +<p>Miss Melville quietly removed the veil, and +Gypsy looked up with her mischief bright all +over her face. Her eyes fell, however, and +her cheeks flushed crimson, when she saw the +look about Miss Melville’s mouth.</p> + +<p>“You may go and put away the things, +Gypsy,” said Miss Melville, still without a +smile. Gypsy obeyed in silence. The girls +stopped laughing, and began to whisper together +behind the desk-covers.</p> + +<p>“The school will come to order,” said Miss +Melville. “Cely, what is the largest river in +New England?—Next.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy hung up the things, and came slowly +back into the room. Miss Melville motioned +her to her seat, but took no further notice of +her. Gypsy, silent and ashamed, took out her +spelling-book, and began to study. The girls +looked at her out of the corners of their eyes, +and every now and then Delia Guest broke out<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_62' id='Page_62'>[Pg 62]</a></span> +afresh into a smothered laugh, but no one +spoke to her, and she spoke to nobody.</p> + +<p>The spelling-class was called out, but Miss +Melville signified, by a look, that Gypsy was +to keep her seat. Recess came, but Miss Melville +was busy writing at her desk, and took no +notice of her, further than to tell the group of +girls, who had instantly clustered buzzing and +laughing about her, that they were all to go +out doors and play. They went, and Gypsy +sat still with her head behind the desk-cover. +Something in Miss Melville’s manner said, +louder than words, that she was displeased. +It was a manner which made Gypsy feel, for +once in her life, that she had not one word to say.</p> + +<p>She busied herself with her books, and tried +to look unconcerned when the scholars came +back. The arithmetic class recited, but her +teacher did not call for her; the history class, +but no one spoke to Gypsy. The disgrace of +this punishment was what Gypsy minded the +most, though it was no slight thing to see so<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_63' id='Page_63'>[Pg 63]</a></span> +many “absent” marks going down on her report, +when she was right in the room and had +learned her lessons.</p> + +<p>After what seemed to her an interminable +time, the morning passed and the school broke +up. The children, controlled by that something +in Miss Melville’s manner, and by Gypsy’s +averted head and burning cheeks, left the room +quickly, and Gypsy and her teacher were alone.</p> + +<p>“Gypsy,” said Miss Melville.</p> + +<p>There was no answer.</p> + +<p>“Gypsy.”</p> + +<p>There came a faint “Yes’m” from behind +the desk-cover. Miss Melville laid down her +pencil, closed her own desk, and came and sat +down on the bench beside Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“I wonder if you are as sorry as I am,” she +said, simply.</p> + +<p>Something very bright glittered on Gypsy’s +lashes, and two great drops stood on her hot +cheeks.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see what possessed me!” she said,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_64' id='Page_64'>[Pg 64]</a></span> +vehemently. “Why don’t you turn me out of +school?”</p> + +<p>“I did not think you could willingly try to +make me trouble,” continued Miss Melville, +without noticing the last remark.</p> + +<p>The two great drops rolled slowly down +Gypsy’s cheeks, and into her mouth. She +swallowed them with a gulp, and brushed her +hand, angrily, across her eyes. Gypsy very +seldom cried, but I fancy she came pretty near +it on that occasion.</p> + +<p>“Miss Melville,” she said, with an earnestness +that was comical, in spite of itself; “I +wish you’d please to scold me. I should feel a +great deal better.”</p> + +<p>“Scoldings won’t do you much good,” said +Miss Melville, with a sad smile; “you must +cure your own faults, Gypsy. Nobody else +can do it for you.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy turned around in a little passion of +despair.</p> + +<p>“Miss Melville, <i>I can’t</i>! It isn’t in me—you<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_65' id='Page_65'>[Pg 65]</a></span> +you don’t know! Here this very morning I +got late to school, tipping Winnie over in a +raft—drenched through both of us, and +mother, so patient and sweet with the dry +stockings she’d just mended, and wasn’t I +sorry? Didn’t I think about it all the way to +school—the whole way, Miss Melville? And +didn’t I make up my mind I’d be as good as +a kitten all day, and sit still like Agnes Gaylord, +and not tickle the girls, nor make you +any trouble, nor anything? Then what should +I do but come into the entry and see those +things, and it all came like a flash how funny +it would be’n I’d talk up high like Mrs. Surly ’n +you wouldn’t know me, and—that was the last +I thought, till you took off the veil, and I +wished I hadn’t done it. It’s just like me—I +never can help anything anyhow.”</p> + +<p>“I think you can,” said her teacher, kindly. +“You certainly had the power, when you stood +out there in the entry, to stop and think before +you touched the things.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_66' id='Page_66'>[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said Gypsy, shaking her +head, thoughtfully; “I don’t believe I had.”</p> + +<p>“But you wouldn’t do it again?”</p> + +<p>“I guess I wouldn’t!” said Gypsy, with an +emphasis.</p> + +<p>“What you can do one time, you can another,” +said Miss Melville.</p> + +<p>Gypsy was silent.</p> + +<p>“There’s one other thing about it,” continued +her teacher, “besides the impropriety of +playing such a trick in school hours—that is, +that it was very unkind to me.”</p> + +<p>“Unkind!” exclaimed Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Miss Melville, quietly, “unkind.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Miss Melville, I wouldn’t be unkind +to you for anything!—I love you dearly.”</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless, Gypsy, it was very unkind +to deliberately set to work to annoy me and +make me trouble, by getting the school into a +frolic. Anything done to break the order of +study-hours, or to withstand any rule of the<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_67' id='Page_67'>[Pg 67]</a></span> +school, is always an unkindness to a teacher. +There is scarcely a girl in school that might +help me more than you, Gypsy, if you chose.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how,” said Gypsy, astonished.</p> + +<p>“I do,” said Miss Melville, smiling, “and I +always think a little vote of thanks to you, +when you are quiet and well-behaved. An +orderly scholar has a great deal of influence. +The girls all love you, and are apt to do as +they see you do, Gypsy.”</p> + +<p>There was a little silence, in which Gypsy’s +eyes were wandering away under the apple-boughs, +their twinkling dimmed and soft.</p> + +<p>At last she turned quickly, and threw her +arms about her teacher’s neck.</p> + +<p>“Miss Melville, if you’ll give me one kiss, +I’ll never be an old woman again, if I live as +long as Methuselah!”</p> + +<p>Miss Melville kissed her, and whispered one +or two little loving words of encouragement, +such as nobody but Miss Melville knew how to +say. But Gypsy never told what they were.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_68' id='Page_68'>[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I believe there’s a bolt left out of me somewhere,” +she said, as they left the school-house +together; “what do you suppose it is?”</p> + +<p>“It is the strong, iron bolt, ‘<i>stop and think</i>,’ +Gypsy.”</p> + +<p>“Um—yes—perhaps it is,” said Gypsy, and +walked slowly home.</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 446px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-007' id='illus-007'></a> +<img src='images/illus-069.jpg' height='300' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='link-5503' id='link-5503'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_69' id='Page_69'>[Pg 69]</a></span> +<h2>Chapter IV</h2><h3>GYPSY HAS A DREAM</h3> +</div> + +<p>“Come, Tom—do.”</p> + +<p>“Do what?”</p> + +<p>“You know as well as I do.”</p> + +<p>“What did you observe?”</p> + +<p><i>“Tom Breynton!”</i></p> + +<p>“That’s my name.”</p> + +<p>“Will you, or will you not, come down to +the pond and have a row?”</p> + +<p>“Let’s hear you tease a little.”</p> + +<p>“Catch me! If you won’t come for a civil +request, I won’t tease for it.”</p> + +<p>“Very good,” said Tom, laying aside his Euclid;<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_70' id='Page_70'>[Pg 70]</a></span> +“I like your spunk. Rather think I’ll go.”</p> + +<p>Tom tossed on his cap and was ready. +Gypsy hurried away to array herself in the +complication of garments necessary to the feminine +adventurer, if she so much as crosses the +yard; a continual mystery of Providence, was +this little necessity to Gypsy, and one against +which she lived in a state of incessant rebellion. +It was provoking enough to stand there in her +room, tugging and hurrying till she was red in +the face, over a pair of utterly heartless and +unimpressible rubbers, that absolutely refused +to slip over the heel of her boot, and to see +Tom through the window, with his hands in +his pocket, ready, waiting, and impatient, +alternately whistling and calling for her.</p> + +<p>“I never <i>did</i>!” said Gypsy, in no very +gentle tone.</p> + +<p>“Hur—ry up!” called Tom, coolly.</p> + +<p>“These old rubbers!” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” asked her mother, +stopping at the door.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_71' id='Page_71'>[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>“It’s enough to try the +patience of a saint!” said +Gypsy, emphatically, +holding out her foot.</p> + + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-008' id='illus-008'></a> +<img src='images/illus-071.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<p>“Perhaps I can help +you,” said Mrs. Breynton, +stooping down. +“Why, Gypsy! your +boots are wet through; +of course the rubbers +won’t go on.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t suppose that would +make any difference,” said Gypsy, looking +rather foolish. “I got them wet this morning, +down at the swamp. I thought they +were dry, though: I sat with my feet in the +oven until Patty drove me off. She said I +was in the bread.”</p> + +<p>“You will have to put on your best boots,” +said her mother.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Tom!” called Gypsy, in despair, as the +shrillest of all shrill whistles came up through<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_72' id='Page_72'>[Pg 72]</a></span> +the window. “Everything’s in a jumble! I’ll +be there as soon as I can.”</p> + +<p>She changed her boots, tossed on her turban, +whisked on her sack, and began to fasten it +with a jerk, when off came the button at the +throat, and rolled maliciously quite out of sight +under the bed.</p> + +<p>“There!” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Can’t wait!” shouted Tom.</p> + +<p>“I mended that sack,” said Gypsy, “only +yesterday afternoon. I call it too bad, when a +body’s trying to keep their things in order, and do +up all their mending, that things have to act so!”</p> + +<p>“I think you have been trying to be orderly,” +said her mother, helping her to pin +the offending sack about the throat, for there +was no time now to restore the wandering +button. “I have noticed a great improvement +in you; but there’s one thing wanting +yet, that would have kept the button in its +place, and had the boots properly taken off and +dried at the right time.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_73' id='Page_73'>[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p>“What’s that?” asked Gypsy, in a great +hurry to go.</p> + +<p>“A little more <i>thoroughness</i>, Gypsy.”</p> + +<p>This bit of a lesson, like most of Mrs. +Breynton’s moral teachings, was enforced +with a little soft kiss on Gypsy’s forehead, +and a smile that was as unlike a sermon as +smile could be.</p> + +<p>Gypsy gave two thoughts to it, while she +jumped down stairs three steps at a time; +then, it must be confessed, she forgot it entirely, +in the sight of Tom coolly walking off +down the lane without her. But words that +Mrs. Breynton said with a kiss did not slip +away from Gypsy’s memory “for good an +a’,” as easily as that. She had her own little +places and times of private meditation, when +such things came up to her like faithful angels, +that are always ready to speak, if you give +them the chance.</p> + +<p>Tom was still in sight, among the hazel-nut +bushes and budding grape-vines of the lane,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_74' id='Page_74'>[Pg 74]</a></span> +and Gypsy ran swiftly after him. She was +fleet of foot as a young gazelle, and soon overtook +him. She had just stopped, panting, by +his side, and was proceeding to make some +remarks which she thought his conduct richly +deserved, when the sound of some little trotting +feet behind them attracted their attention.</p> + +<p>“Why, Winnie Breynton!” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Where are you going?” asked Tom, turning +round.</p> + +<p>“Oh, nowheres in particular,” said Winnie, +with an absent air.</p> + +<p>“Well, you may just turn round and go +there, then,” said Tom. “We don’t want any +little boys with us this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Little boys!</i>” said Winnie, with a terrible +look; “I’m five years old, sir. I can button +my own jacket, and I’ve got a snowshovel!”</p> + +<p>Tom walked rapidly on, and Gypsy with +him. A moment’s reflection seemed to convince +Winnie that his company was not<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_75' id='Page_75'>[Pg 75]</a></span> +wanted, and he disappeared among the hazel +nut bushes.</p> + +<p>Gypsy and Tom were fast walkers, and they +reached the pond in a marvellously short time. +This pond was about a half-mile from the +house, just at the foot of a hill which went by +the name of Kleiner Berg—a German word +meaning little mountain. There were many +of these elevations all along the valley in +which Yorkbury was situated. They seemed +to be a sort of stepping-stones to the great, +snow-crowned mountains, that towered sharply +beyond. The pond that nestled in among the +trees at the foot of the Kleiner Berg was +called the Kleiner Berg Basin. It was a +beautiful sheet of water, small and still and +sheltered, and a great resort of pleasure-seekers +because of the clouds of white and +golden lilies that floated over it in the hot +summer months. Mr. Breynton owned a boat +there, which was kept locked to a tiny wharf +under the trees, and was very often used by<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_76' id='Page_76'>[Pg 76]</a></span> +the children, although Tom declared it was no +better to fish in than a wash-tub; as a Vermont +boy, used to the trout-brooks up among +the mountains, would be likely to think.</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” asked Gypsy, as they neared +the wharf.</p> + +<p>“Looks as much like a little green monkey +as anything,” said Tom, making a tube of his +hands to look through. “It’s in the boat, +whatever it is.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a green-and-white gingham monkey,” +said Gypsy, suddenly, “with a belt, and brown +pants, and a cap on wrong side before.”</p> + +<p>“The little——, he may just walk home +anyhow,” observed Tom, in his autocratic +style. “He ought to be taught better than to +come where older people are, especially if they +don’t want him.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose he likes to have a boat-ride as +well as we do,” suggested Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Winthrop!” called Tom, severely.</p> + +<p>Winnie’s chin was on his little fat hand, and<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_77' id='Page_77'>[Pg 77]</a></span> +Winnie’s eyes were fixed upon the water, and +Winnie was altogether too deeply absorbed in +meditation to deign a reply.</p> + +<p>“Winnie, where did you come from?”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Winnie, looking up, carelessly; +“that you?”</p> + +<p>“How did you get down here, I’d like to +know?” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>Winnie regarded her impressively, as if to +signify that his principles of action were his +own until they were made public, and when +they were made public she might have them.</p> + +<p>“You may just get out of that boat,” said +Tom, rather crossly for him. Winnie hinted, +as if it were quite an accidental remark, that +he had no intention of doing so. He furthermore +observed that he would be happy to +take them to row. “Father said whoever took +the boat first was to have it.”</p> + +<p>Tom replied by taking him up in one hand, +twisting him over his shoulder, and landing +him upon the grass. At this Winnie, as<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_78' id='Page_78'>[Pg 78]</a></span> +characteristic in his wrath as in his dignity, +threw himself flat, and began to scream after +his usual musical fashion.</p> + +<p>“It’s too bad!” said Gypsy. “Let him go, +Tom—do.”</p> + +<p>“He should have stayed where he was told +to,” argued Tom, who, like most boys of his +age, had a sufficiently just estimate of the +importance of his own authority, and who +would sometimes do a very selfish thing under +the impression that it was his duty to family +and state, as an order-loving individual and +citizen.</p> + +<p>“I know it isn’t so pleasant to have him,” +said Gypsy, “but it does make him so dreadfully +happy.”</p> + +<p>That was the best of Gypsy;—she was as +generous a child as poor, fallen children of +Adam are apt to be; as quick to do right as +she was to do wrong, and much given to this +fancy of seeing people “dreadfully happy.” +I have said that people loved Gypsy. I am<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_79' id='Page_79'>[Pg 79]</a></span> +inclined to think that herein lay the secret +of it.</p> + +<p>Then Gypsy never “preached.” If she happened +to be right, and another person wrong, +she never put on superior airs, and tried to +patronize them into becoming as good as she +was. She made her suggestions in such a +straightforward, matter-of-fact way, as if of +course you thought so too, and she was only +agreeing with you; and was apt to make them +so merrily withal, that there was no resisting her.</p> + +<p>Therefore Tom, while pretending to carry +his point, really yielded to the influence of +Gypsy’s kind feeling, in saying,—</p> + +<p>“On the whole, Winnie, I’ve come to the +conclusion to take you, on condition that you +always do as I tell you in future. And if you +don’t stop crying this minute, you sha’n’t go.”</p> + +<p>This rather ungracious consent was sufficient +to dry Winnie’s tears and silence Winnie’s +lungs, and the three seated themselves in the +little boat, and started off in high spirits. It<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_80' id='Page_80'>[Pg 80]</a></span> +was a light, pretty boat, painted in bright +colors, and christened <i>The Dipper</i>, it being an +appropriate and respectful title for a boat on +the Kleiner Berg <i>Basin</i>. Moreover, the air +was as sweet as a May-flower, and as warm as +sunshine; there was a soft, blue sky with +clouds of silver like stately ships sailing over +it, and such a shimmering, bright photograph +of it in the water; then Tom was so pleasant, +and rowed so fast, and let Gypsy help, and she +could keep time with him, and the spray +dashed up like silver-dust about the oars, and +the bees were humming among the buds on the +trees, and the blue dragon-flies, that skipped +from ripple to ripple, seemed to be having +such a holiday. Altogether, Gypsy felt like +saying, with famous little Prudy,—</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m so glad there happened to be a +world, and God made me!”</p> + +<p>After a while Tom laid down his oars, and +they floated idly back and forth among the +lily-stems and the soft, purple shadows of the<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_81' id='Page_81'>[Pg 81]</a></span> +maple-boughs, from which the perfumed scarlet +blossoms dropped like coral into the water. +Tom took off his cap, and leaned lazily against +the side of the boat; Winnie, interested in +making a series of remarkable faces at himself +in the water, for a wonder sat still, and Gypsy +lay down across two seats, with her face turned +up watching the sky. It was very pleasant, +and no one seemed inclined to talk.</p> + +<p>“I wish I were a cloud,” said Gypsy, suddenly, +after a long silence. “A little white +cloud, with a silver fringe, and not have anything +to do but float round all day in the sunshine,—no +lessons nor torn dresses nor hateful +old sewing to do.”</p> + +<p>“S‘posin’ it thunder-stormed,” suggested +Winnie. “You might get striked.”</p> + +<p>“That would be fun,” said Gypsy, laughing. +“I always wanted to see where the lightning +came from.”</p> + +<p>“Supposing there came a wind, and blew +you away,” suggested Tom, sleepily.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_82' id='Page_82'>[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I never thought of that,” said Gypsy. “I +guess I’d rather do the sewing.”</p> + +<p>Presently a little scarlet maple-blossom +floated out on the wind, and dropped right +into Gypsy’s mouth (which most unpoetically +happened to be open).</p> + +<p>“Just think,” said Gypsy, whose thoughts +seemed to have taken a metaphysical turn, “of +being a little red flower, that dies and drops +into the water, and there’s never any fruit +nor anything,—I wonder what it was made +for.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps just to make you ask that question,” +answered Tom; and there was a great +deal more in the answer than Tom himself +supposed. This was every solitary word that +was said on that boat-ride. A little is so much +better than much, sometimes, and goes a great +deal further.</p> + +<p>It seemed to Gypsy the pleasantest boat-ride +she had ever taken; but Tom became +tired of it before she did, and went up to the<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_83' id='Page_83'>[Pg 83]</a></span> +house, carrying Winnie with him. Gypsy +stayed a little while to row by herself.</p> + +<p>“Be sure you lock the boat when you come +up,” called Tom, in starting.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said Gypsy, “I always do.”</p> + +<p>“Did you bring up the oars?” asked Tom, +at supper.</p> + +<p>“Yes, they’re in the barn. I do sometimes +remember things, Mr. Tom.”</p> + +<p>“Did you——,” began Tom, again.</p> + +<p>But Winnie just then upset the entire contents +of his silver mug of milk exactly into +Tom’s lap, and as this was the fourth time +the young gentleman had done that very +thing, within three days, Tom’s sentence +was broken off for another of a more agitated +nature.</p> + +<p>That night Tom had a dream.</p> + +<p>He thought the house was a haunted castle—(he +had, I am sorry to say, been reading +novels in study hours), and that the ghost of +old Baron Somebody who had defrauded the<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_84' id='Page_84'>[Pg 84]</a></span> +beautiful Lady Somebody-else, of Kleiner Berg +Basin and the Dipper, in which it was supposed +Mrs. Surly had secreted a blind kitten, +which it was somehow or other imperatively +necessary should be drowned, for the well-being +of the beautiful and unfortunate heiress,—that +the ghost of this atrocious Baron was +going down stairs, with white silk stockings on +his feet and a tin pan on his head.</p> + +<p>At this crisis Tom awoke, with a jump, and +heard, or thought he heard, a slight creaking +noise in the entry. Winnie’s cat, of course; +or the wind rattling the blinds;—nevertheless, +Tom went to his door, and looked out. He +was exceedingly sleepy, and the entry was exceedingly +dark, and, though he had not a breath +of faith in ghosts, not he,—was there ever a +boy who had?—and though he considered such +persons, as had, as candidates for the State +Idiot Asylum, yet it must be confessed that +even Tom was possessed of an imagination, +and this imagination certainly, for an instant,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_85' id='Page_85'>[Pg 85]</a></span> +deluded him into the belief that a dim figure +was flitting down stairs.</p> + +<p>“Who’s there?” said Tom, rather faintly.</p> + +<p>There was no reply. A curious sound, like +the lifting of a distant latch by phantom fingers, +fell upon his ear,—then all was still.</p> + +<p>“Stuff and nonsense!” said Tom. Nevertheless, +Tom went to the head of the stairs, +and looked down; went to the foot of the +stairs, and looked around. The doors were +all closed as they had been left for the night. +Nothing was to be seen; nothing was to be +heard.</p> + +<p>“Curious mental delusions one will have +when one is sleepy,” said Tom, and went back +to bed, where, the reader is confidentially informed, +he lay for fifteen entire minutes with +his eyes wide open, speculating on the proportion +of authenticated ghost-stories;—to be sure, +there had been some; it was, perhaps, foolish +to deny as much as that.</p> + +<p>After which, he slept the rest of the night as<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_86' id='Page_86'>[Pg 86]</a></span> +soundly as young people of sixteen, who are +well and happy, are apt to sleep.</p> + +<p>That night, also, Gypsy had a dream.</p> + +<p>She dreamed that Miss Melville sailed in +through the window on an oar, which she +paddled through the air with a parasol, and +told her that her (Gypsy’s) father had been +hung upon a lamp-post by Senator Sumner, +for advocating the coercion of the seceded +States, and that Tom had set Winnie afloat +on the Kleiner Berg Basin, in a milk-pitcher. +Winnie had tipped over, and was in imminent +danger of drowning, if indeed he were +not past hope already, and Tom sat up in the +maple-tree, laughing at him.</p> + +<p>Her mother appeared to have enlisted in +the Union army, and, her father being detained +in that characteristic manner by Mr. +Sumner, there was evidently nothing to be +done but for Gypsy to go to Winnie’s relief. +This she hastened to do with all possible +speed. She dressed herself under a remarkable<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_87' id='Page_87'>[Pg 87]</a></span> +sense of not being able to find any buttons, +and of getting all her sleeves upon the +wrong arm. She put on her rubber-boots, +because it took so long to lace up her boots. +Her stockings she wore upon her arms. The +reason appeared to be, that she might not get +her hands wet in pulling Winnie out. She +stopped to put on her sack, her turban, and +her blue veil. She also spent considerable +time in commendable efforts to pin on a lace +collar which utterly refused to be pinned, and +to fasten at her throat a velvet bow that kept +turning into a little green snake, and twisting +round her fingers.</p> + +<p>When at length she was fairly ready, she left +the house softly, under the impression that +Tom (who appeared to have the remarkable +capacity of being in the house and down in the +maple-trees at one and the same time) would +stop her if he heard her.</p> + +<p>She ran down the lane and over the fields and +into the woods, where the Kleiner Berg rose<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_88' id='Page_88'>[Pg 88]</a></span> +darkly in front of her; so, at last, to the Basin, +which rippled and washed on its shore, and +tossed up at her feet—<i>an empty milk-pitcher</i>!</p> + +<p>A horrible fear seized her. She had come +too late. Winnie was drowned. It was all +owing to that lace collar.</p> + +<p>She sprang into the boat; she floated away; +she peered down into the dark water. But +Tom laughed in the maple-tree; and there was +no sign nor sound of Winnie.</p> + +<p>She cried out with a loud cry, and awoke. +She lifted up her head, and saw——</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 397px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-009' id='illus-009'></a> +<img src='images/illus-089.jpg' height='300' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='link-3022' id='link-3022'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_89' id='Page_89'>[Pg 89]</a></span> +<h2>Chapter V</h2><h3>WHAT SHE SAW</h3> +</div> + +<p>A great, solemn stretch of sky, alive +with stars.</p> + +<p>A sheet of silent water.</p> + +<p>A long line of silent hills.</p> + +<p><i>She had acted out her dream!</i> When the +truth came to Gypsy, she sat for a moment like +one stunned. The terrible sense of awakening +in a desolate place, at midnight, and alone, instead +of in a safe and quiet bed, with bolted +doors, and friends within the slightest call, +might well alarm an older and stouter heart +than Gypsy’s. The consciousness of having<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_90' id='Page_90'>[Pg 90]</a></span> +wandered she did not know whither, she did +not know how, in the helplessness of sleep, into +a place where her voice could reach no human +ear, was in itself enough to freeze her where +she sat, with hands locked, and wide, frightened +eyes, staring into the darkness.</p> + +<p>After a few moments she stirred, shivered a +little, and looked about her.</p> + +<p>It was the Basin, surely. There were the +maples, there was the Kleiner Berg rolling up, +soft and shadowy, among its pines. There +were the mountains, towering and sharp—terrible +shadows against the sky. Here, too, was +the Dipper beneath her, swaying idly back and +forth upon the water. She remembered, with +a little cry of joy, that the boat was always +locked; she could not have stirred from the +shore; it would be but the work of a moment to +jump upon the wharf, then back swiftly through +the fields to the house.</p> + +<p>She looked back. The wharf was not in +sight. A dark distance lay between her and it.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_91' id='Page_91'>[Pg 91]</a></span> +The beds of lily-leaves, and the dropping +blossoms of the maples were about her on +every side. She had drifted half across the +pond.</p> + +<p>She understood it all in a moment—<i>she had +not locked the boat that afternoon</i>.</p> + +<p>What was to be done? The oars were half +a mile away, in the barn at home. There was +not so much as a branch floating within reach +on the water. She tried to pull up the board +seats of the boat, under the impression that +she could, by degrees, paddle herself ashore +with one of them. But they were nailed tightly +in their places, and she could not stir them. +Evidently, there was nothing to be done.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the boat would drift ashore somewhere; +she could land anywhere; even on the +steep Kleiner Berg side she could easily have +found footing; she was well used to climbing +its narrow ledges, and knew every crack and +crevice and projection where a step could be +taken. But, no; the boat was not going to<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_92' id='Page_92'>[Pg 92]</a></span> +drift ashore. It had stopped in a tangle of lily-leaves, +far out in the water, and there was not +a breath of wind to stir it. If the water had +not been deep she could have waded ashore; +but her practised ear told her, from the sound +of the little waves against her hand, that wading +was not to be thought of. To be sure, +Gypsy could swim; but a walk of half a mile in +drenched clothes was hardly preferable to sitting +still in a dry boat, to say nothing of the +inconvenience of swimming in crinoline, and +on a dark night.</p> + +<p>No, there was nothing to be done but to sit +still till morning.</p> + +<p>Having come to this conclusion, Gypsy gave +another little shiver, and slipped down into the +bottom of the boat, thinking she might lie with +her head under the stern-seat, and thus be +somewhat shielded from the chilly air. In +turning up her sack-collar, to protect her +throat, she touched something soft, which +proved to be the lace collar. This led her to<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_93' id='Page_93'>[Pg 93]</a></span> +examine her dress. She now noticed for the +first time that one stocking was drawn up over +her hand,—the other she had probably lost on +the way,—and that she had put her bare feet +into rubber-boots. The lace collar was fastened +by a bit of green chenille she sometimes +wore at her throat, and which had doubtless +been the snake of her dream.</p> + +<p>Lonely, frightened, and cold as she was, +Gypsy’s sense of the ludicrous overcame her at +that, and she broke into a little laugh. That +laugh seemed to drive away the mystery and +terror of her situation, in spite of the curious +sound it had in echoing over the lonely water; +and Gypsy set herself to work with her usual +good sense to see how matters stood.</p> + +<p>“In the first place,” she reasoned, talking +half aloud for the sake of the company of her +own voice, “I’ve had a fit of what the dictionary +calls somnambulism, I suppose. I eat too +much pop-corn after supper, and that’s the +whole of it,—it always makes me dream,—only<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_94' id='Page_94'>[Pg 94]</a></span> +I never was goose enough to get out of bed +before, and I rather think it’ll be some time before +I do again. I came down stairs softly, +and out of the back door. Nobody heard me, +and of course nobody will hear me till morning, +and I’m in a pretty fix. If I hadn’t forgotten +to lock the boat I should be back in bed by this +time. Oh dear! I wish I were. However, +I’m too large to tip myself over and get +drowned, and I couldn’t get hurt any other way; +and there’s nothing to be afraid of if I do have +to stay here till morning, except sore throat, +so there’s no great harm done. The worst of it +is, that old Tom! Won’t he laugh at me about +the boat! I never expect to hear the end of it. +Then when they go to my room and find me +gone, in the morning, they’ll be frightened. +I’m rather sorry for that. I wish I knew what +time it is.”</p> + +<p>Just then the distant church-clock struck +two. Gypsy held her breath, and listened to +it. It had a singular, solemn sound. She<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_95' id='Page_95'>[Pg 95]</a></span> +had never heard the clock strike two in the +morning but once before in her life. That +was once when she was very small, when her +father was dangerously sick, and the coming +of the doctor had wakened her. She had always +somehow associated the hour with mysterious +flickering lights, and anxious whispers +and softened steps, and a dread as terrible as +it was undefined. Now, out here in this desolate +place, where the birds were asleep in +their nests, and the winds quiet among the +mountain-tops, and the very frogs tired of +their chanting,—herself the only waking +thing,—these two far, deep-toned syllables +seemed like a human voice. Like the voice, +Gypsy fancied, of some one imprisoned for +years in the belfry, and crying to get out.</p> + +<p>Two o’clock. Three—four—five—six. At +about six they would begin to miss her; her +mother always called her, then, to get up. +Four hours.</p> + +<p>“Hum,—well,” said Gypsy, drawing her<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_96' id='Page_96'>[Pg 96]</a></span> +sack-collar closer, “pretty long time to sit out +in a boat and shiver. It might be worse, +though.” Just then her foot struck something +soft under the seat. She pulled it out, +and found it to be an old coat of Tom’s, which +he sometimes used for boating. Fortunately +it was not wet, for the boat was new, and did +not leak. She wrapped it closely around her +shoulders, curled herself up snugly in the +stern, and presently pronounced herself “as +warm as toast, and as comfortable as an +oyster.”</p> + +<p>Then she began to look about her. All +around and underneath her lay the black, still +water,—so black that the maple-branches cast +no shadow on it. About and above her rose +the mountains, grim and mute, and watching, +as they had watched for ages, and would +watch for ages still, all the long night through. +Overhead, the stars glittered and throbbed, +and shot in and out of ragged clouds. Far up +in the great forests, that climbed the mountain-sides,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_97' id='Page_97'>[Pg 97]</a></span> +the wind was muttering like an +angry voice.</p> + +<p>Somehow it made Gypsy sit very still. She +thought, if she were a poet, she would write +some verses just then; indeed, if she had had +a pencil, I am not sure but she would have, as +it was.</p> + +<p>Then some other thoughts came to Gypsy. +She wondered why, of all places, she chanced +to come to the Basin in her dream. She +might have gone to the saw-mill, and been +caught and whirred to death in the machinery. +She might have gone to the bridge over the +river, and thrown herself off, not knowing +what she did. Or, what if the pond had been +a river, and she were now floating away, helpless, +out of reach of any who came to save +her, to some far-off dam where the water +roared and splashed on cruel rocks. Or she +might, in her dream, have tipped over the boat +where the water was deep, and been unable to +swim, encumbered by her clothing. Then she<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_98' id='Page_98'>[Pg 98]</a></span> +might have been such a girl as Sarah Rowe, +who would have suffered agonies of fright at +waking to find herself in such a place. But +she had been led to the quiet, familiar Basin, +and no harm had come to her, and she had +good strong nerves, and lost all her fear in five +minutes, so that the mischance would end only +in an exciting adventure, which would give +her something to talk about as long as she +lived.</p> + +<p>Well; she was sure she was very thankful +to—whom? and Gypsy bowed her head a little +at the question, and she sat a moment very +still.</p> + +<p>Then she had other thoughts. She looked +up at the shadowed mountains, and thought +how year after year, summer and winter, day +and night, those terrible masses of rock had +cleaved together, and stood still, and caught +the rains and the snows and vapors, the golden +crowns of sunsets and sunrisings, the cooling +winds and mellow moonlights, and done all<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_99' id='Page_99'>[Pg 99]</a></span> +their work of beauty and of use, and done it +aright. <i>“Not one faileth.”</i> No avalanche had +thundered down their sides, destroying such +happy homes as hers. No volcanic fires had +torn them into seething lava. No beetling +precipice, of which she ever heard, had fallen +and crushed so much as the sheep feeding in +the valleys. To the power of the hills as to +the power of the seas, Someone had said, Thus +far shalt thou go, and no farther.</p> + +<p>And the Hand that could uphold a mountain +in its place, was the Hand that had +guided her—one little foolish, helpless girl, +out of millions and millions of creatures for +whom He was caring—in the wanderings of an +uneasy sleep that night.</p> + +<p>There was a great awe and a great joy in this +thought; but sharp upon it came another, as a +pleasure is followed by a sudden pain,—a +thought that came all unbidden, and talked with +Gypsy, and would not go away. It was, that +she had gone to bed that night without a prayer.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_100' id='Page_100'>[Pg 100]</a></span> +She was tired and sleepy, and the lamp went +out, and so,—and so,—well, she didn’t know +exactly how it came about.</p> + +<p>Gypsy’s bowed head fell into her hands, and +there, crouched in the lonely boat, under the +lonely sky, she put this thought into a few +whispered words, and I know there was One +to hear it.</p> + +<p>Other thoughts had Gypsy after this; but +they were those she could not have put into +words. For three of those solemn, human +syllables had sounded from the distant clock, +and far over the mountain-tops the sweet summer +dawn was coming. Gypsy had never seen +the sun rise. She had seen, to be sure, many +times, the late, winter painting of crimson and +gold in the East, which unfolded itself before +her window, and chased away her dreams. But +she had never watched that slow, mysterious +change from midnight to morning, which is +the only spectacle that can properly be called a +sunrise.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_101' id='Page_101'>[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was something in Gypsy that made her +sit like a statue there, wrapped in Tom’s old +coat, her face upturned, and her very breath +held in, as the heavy shadows softened and +melted, and the stars began to dim in a pale, +gray light, that fell and folded in the earth like +a mist; as the clouds, that floated faintly over +the mountains, blushed pink from the touch of +an unseen sun; as the pink deepened into crimson, +and the crimson burned to fire, and the +outlines of the mountains were cut in gold; as +the gold broadened and brightened, and stole +over the ragged peaks, and shot down among the +forests, and filtered through the maple-leaves, +and chased the purple shadows far down among +the valleys; as the birds twittered in unseen +nests, and the crickets chirped in the meadows, +and the dews fell and sparkled from nodding +grasses, and “all the world grew green again.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy thought it was worth an ugly dream +and a little fright, to see such a sight. She +wondered if those old pictures of the great masters<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_102' id='Page_102'>[Pg 102]</a></span> +far away over the sea, of which she had +heard so much, were anything like it. She also +had a faint, flitting notion that, in a world +where there were sunrises every day, it was +very strange people should ever be cross, and +tear their dresses, and forget to lock boats. It +seemed as if they ought to know better.</p> + +<p>Just then Gypsy fell asleep, with her head on +the bottom of the boat; and the next she knew +it was broad day, and a dear, familiar voice, +from somewhere, was calling,—</p> + +<p>“Gypsy!—Why, Gypsy!”</p> + +<p>“How do you do?” said Gypsy, sleepily, sitting +up straight.</p> + +<p>Tom was standing on the shore. He did not +say another word. He jumped into an old +mud-scull, that lay floating among the bushes, +and paddled up to her before she was wide +enough awake to speak.</p> + +<p>“Why, Gypsy Breynton!”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been walking in my sleep,” said +Gypsy, with a little laugh; “I came out here<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_103' id='Page_103'>[Pg 103]</a></span> +to save Winnie from upsetting in a milk-pitcher, +and then I woke up, and I <i>did</i> forget +to lock the boat, and I couldn’t get ashore.”</p> + +<p>“How long have you been here?” Tom was +very pale.</p> + +<p>“Since a little before two. There was a +splendid sunrise, only it was rather cold, and I +didn’t know where I was at first, and I—well, +I’m glad you’re come.”</p> + +<p>“Put on my coat over that. Lean up +against my arm—so. Don’t try to talk,” said +Tom, in a quick, business-like tone. But Tom +was curiously pale.</p> + +<p>“Why, there’s no harm done, Tom, dear,” +said Gypsy, looking up into his face.</p> + +<p>“I can’t talk about it, Gypsy—I <i>can’t</i>, I +thought, I——”</p> + +<p>Tom looked the other way to see the view, +and did not finish his sentence.</p> + +<p>“You don’t suppose she’s going to be a somnambulist?” +asked Mr. Breynton. This was +the first time he had remembered to be worried<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_104' id='Page_104'>[Pg 104]</a></span> +over any of Gypsy’s peculiarities all day. He +had spent so much time in looking at her, and +kissing her, and wiping his spectacles.</p> + +<p>“No, indeed,” said her mother; “it was +nothing in the world but popped-corn. The +child will never have another such turn, I’ll +venture.”</p> + +<p>And she never did.</p> + +<p>It is needless to say that nobody scolded +Gypsy for forgetting to lock the boat. She +was likely enough to remember the incident. +She had, perhaps, received a severe punishment +for so slight a negligence, but the reader +may rest assured that the boat was always +locked thereafter when Gypsy had anything to +do with it.</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 407px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-010' id='illus-010'></a> +<img src='images/illus-105.jpg' height='300' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='link-1042' id='link-1042'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_105' id='Page_105'>[Pg 105]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2><h3>UP IN THE APPLE TREE</h3> +</div> + +<p>“Gypsy! Gypsy!”</p> + +<p>“What’s wanted?”</p> + +<p>“Where are you?”</p> + +<p>“Here.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know where ‘here’ is.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you’ll find out after a while.”</p> + +<p>Winnie trotted along down the garden-path, +and across the brook. “Here” proved to be +the great golden-russet tree. High up on a +gnarled old branch, there was a little flutter of +a crimson and white gingham dress, and a +merry face peeping down through the dainty<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_106' id='Page_106'>[Pg 106]</a></span> +pink blossoms that blushed all over the tree. +It looked so pretty, framed in by the bright +color and glistening sunlight, and it seemed to +fit in so exactly with the fragrance and the +soft, dropping petals, and the chirping of the +blue-birds overhead, that I doubt if even Mrs. +Surly would have had the heart to say, as Mrs. +Surly was much in the habit of saying,—</p> + +<p>“A young lady, twelve years old, climbing +an apple-tree! Laws a massy! I pity your ma—what +a sight of trainin’clock she must ha’ wasted +on you!”</p> + +<p>“It looks nice up there,” said Winnie, admiringly, +looking up with his mouth open; +“I’m acomin’clock up.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>Winnie assailed a low-hanging bough, and +crawled half way up, where he stopped.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you come?” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I—well, I think I like it better down +here. You can see the grass, and things. +There’s a black grasshopper here, too.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_107' id='Page_107'>[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>“What do you want, anyway?” asked +Gypsy, taking a few spasmodic stitches on a +long, white seam; “I’m busy. I can’t talk to +little boys when I’m sewing.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I guess I don’t want anythin’clock, very +much,” said Winnie, folding his arms composedly, +as if he had seated himself for the day; +“I’m five years old.”</p> + +<p>Down went Gypsy’s work, and a whole handful +of pink and white blossoms came fluttering +into Winnie’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“How am I going to sew?” said Gypsy, +despairingly; “you’re so exactly in the right +place to be hit. I don’t believe Mrs. Surly herself +could help snowballing you.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Surly snowball! Why, I never saw +her. Wouldn’t it be just funny?”</p> + +<p>“Winnie Breynton, <i>will</i> you please to go +away?”</p> + +<p>“I say, Gypsy,—if you cut off a grasshopper’s +wings, and frow him in a milk-pan, what +would he do?” remarked Winnie, inclining to<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_108' id='Page_108'>[Pg 108]</a></span> +metaphysics, as was Winnie’s custom when he +wasn’t wanted. Gypsy took several severe +stitches, and made no answer.</p> + +<p>“Gypsy—if somebody builded a fire inside +of me and made steam, couldn’t I draw a train +of cars?”</p> + +<p>“Look here—Gyp., when a cat eats up a +mouse——”</p> + +<p>Winnie forgot what he was aiming at, just +there, coughed, and began again.</p> + +<p>“Samson could have drawed a train of cars, +anyway.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Winnie Breynton!”</p> + +<p>“Well, if he had a steam-leg, he’d be jest +as good as an engine—<i>wouldn’t</i> I like to seen +him!” Just then a branch struck Winnie’s +head with decidedly more emphasis than the +handful of blossoms, and Winnie slid to the +ground, and remarked, with dignity, that he +was sorry he couldn’t stay longer. He would +come again another day. About half way up the +walk, he stopped, and turned leisurely round.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_109' id='Page_109'>[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh—Gypsy! Mother want’s to know +where’s the key of the china-closet she let you +have. She’s in a great hurry. That’s what +I come down for; I s’posed there was something +or nuther.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Winnie Breynton! and you’ve been +sitting there all this——”</p> + +<p>“Where’s the key?” interrupted Winnie, +severely; “mother hadn’t ought to be kept +waitin’clock.”</p> + +<p>“It’s up-stairs in—in, I guess in my slippers,” +said Gypsy, stopping to think.</p> + +<p><i>“Slippers!”</i></p> + +<p>“Yes. I was afraid I should forget to put +it up, so I put it in my slipper, because I +should feel it, and remember it. Then I took +off the slippers, and that was the last I thought +of it.”</p> + +<p>“It was very careless,” said Winnie, with +a virtuous air. It was noticeable that he took +good care to be out of hearing of Gypsy’s +reply.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_110' id='Page_110'>[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gypsy returned to her seam, and the apple-blossoms, +and to her own little meditations +about the china-closet key; which, being of a +private and somewhat humiliating nature, are +not given to the public.</p> + +<p>The apple-tree stood in one corner of a very +pleasant garden. Mr. Breynton had a great +fancy for working over his trees and flowers, +and, if he had not been a publisher and bookseller, +might have made a very successful landscape-gardener. +Poor health had driven him +out of the professions, and the tastes of a +scholar drove him away from out-door life; he +had compromised the matter by that book-store +down opposite the post-office. The literature +of a Vermont town is not of the most world-stirring +nature, and it did occur to him, +occasionally, that business was rather dull, +but his wife loved the old home, the children +were comfortable and happy, and he himself, +he thought, was getting rather old to start +out on any new venture elsewhere; so Yorkbury<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_111' id='Page_111'>[Pg 111]</a></span> +seemed likely to be the family nest for +life.</p> + +<p>It was the same methodical kind-heartedness +that made him at once so thoughtful and +tender a father, and yet so habitually worried +by the children’s little failings, that gave him +his taste for beautiful flowers and shrubbery, +and his skill in cultivating them. This garden +was his pet enterprise. It was gracefully laid +out with winding walks, evergreens, fruit-trees +and flower-beds; not in stiff patterns, but with a +delightful studied negligence, such as that with +which an artist would group the figures on a +landscape. Rocks and vines and wild flowers +were scattered over the garden very much as +they would be found in the fields; stately roses +and dahlias, delicate heliotrope and aristocratic +fuchsias, would grow, side by side, with daisies +and buttercups. But, best of all, Gypsy liked +the corner where the golden russet stood. +A bit of a brook ran across it, which had been +caught in a frolic one day, as it went singing<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_112' id='Page_112'>[Pg 112]</a></span> +away to the meadows, and dammed up and +paved down into a tiny pond.</p> + +<p>The short-tufted grass swept over its edge +like a fringe, and in their season slender hair-bells +bent over, casting little blue shadows +into the water; the apple-boughs, too, hung +over it, and flung down their showers of pearls +and rubies, when the wind was high. Moreover, +there was a statue. This statue was +Gypsy’s pride and delight. It was Aladdin’s +Palace, the Tuilleries, Versailles, and the +Alhambra, all in one. The only fault to be +found with it was that it was not marble. It +was a species of weather-proof composition, +but very finely carved, and much valued by +Mr. Breynton. It was a pretty thing—a water-nymph +rising from an unfolded lily, with both +hands parting her long hair from a wondering +face, that, pleased with its own beauty, was +bent to watch its reflection in the water.</p> + +<p>Altogether, the spot was so bewitching, that +it is little wonder Gypsy’s work kept dropping<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_113' id='Page_113'>[Pg 113]</a></span> +into her lap, and her eyes wandering away +somewhere into dreamland.</p> + +<p>One of those endless seams on a white skirt +that you have torn from the placket to the +hem, is not a very attractive sight, if you have +it to mend, and don’t happen to like to sew any +better than Gypsy did.</p> + +<p>She seemed fated to be interrupted in her +convulsive attempts at “run-and-back stitching.” +Winnie was hardly in the house, before +Sarah Rowe came out in the garden to hunt +her up.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear,” said Gypsy, as Sarah’s face +appeared under the apple-boughs; “I’m not a +bit glad to see you.”</p> + +<p>“That’s polite,” said Sarah, reddening; +“I’ll go home again.”</p> + +<p>“Look,” said Gypsy, laughing; “just <i>see</i> +what I’ve got to mend, and I came out here on +purpose to get it done, so I could come over to +your house. You see I oughtn’t to be glad to +see you at all, but I am exceedingly.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_114' id='Page_114'>[Pg 114]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sarah climbed up, and sat down beside her +upon a long, swaying bough.</p> + +<p>“Now don’t you speak a single word,” said +Gypsy, with an industrious air, “till I get this +done.”</p> + +<p>“No, I won’t,” said Sarah. “What do you +have to sew for, Saturday afternoons?”</p> + +<p>“Why, it’s my mending: mother wants me +to do it Saturday morning, and of course it’s a +great deal easier, because then you have all +the afternoon to yourself, only I never seem to +get time; I’m sure I don’t know why. This +morning I had my history topics to write.”</p> + +<p>“Why, I wrote mine yesterday!”</p> + +<p>“I meant to, but I forgot; Miss Melville +said I musn’t put it off another day. There! +I wasn’t going to talk.”</p> + +<p>“Mother does my mending for me,” said +Sarah.</p> + +<p>“She does! Well, I just wish my mother +would. She says it wouldn’t be good for +me.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_115' id='Page_115'>[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p>“How did you tear such a great place, I’d +like to know?”</p> + +<p>“Put my foot right through it,” said Gypsy, +disconsolately. “It was hanging on a chair, +and I just stepped in it and started to run, and +down I went,—and here’s the skirt. I was +running after the cat. I’d put her under my +best hat, and she was spinning down stairs. +You never saw anything so funny! I’m always +doing such things,—I mean like the skirt. I +do declare! you mustn’t talk.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not,” said Sarah, laughing; “it’s you +that are talking. You haven’t sewed a stitch +for five minutes, either.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy sighed, and her needle began to fly +savagely. There was a little silence.</p> + +<p>“You see,” said Gypsy, breaking it, “I’m +trying to reform.”</p> + +<p>“Reform?” said Sarah, with some vague +ideas of Luther and Melancthon, and Gypsy’s +wearing a wig and spectacles, and reading +Cruden’s “Concordance.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_116' id='Page_116'>[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” nodded Gypsy, “reform. I never +knew anybody need it as much as I. I never +do things anyway, and then I do them wrong, +and then I forget all about them. Mother +says I’m improving. She says my room used +to look like a perfect Babel, and now I keep +the wardrobe door shut, and dust it out—sometimes. +Then there’s my mending. I +came out here so’s to be quiet and <i>keep at it</i>. +The poor dear woman is so afraid I won’t +learn to do things in a lady-like way. It +would be dreadful not to grow up a lady, +wouldn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Dreadful!” said Sarah; “only I wish +you’d hurry and get through, so we can go +down to the swamp and sail. Couldn’t you +take a little bigger stitches?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Gypsy, resolutely; “I should +have to rip it all out. I’m going to do it +right, if it takes me all day.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy began to sew with a will, and Sarah, +finding it was for her own interest in the<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_117' id='Page_117'>[Pg 117]</a></span> +end, stopped talking; so the fearful seam was +soon neatly finished, the work folded up, and +the thimble and scissors put away carefully in +the little green reticule.</p> + +<p>“I lose so many thimbles,—you don’t +know!” observed Gypsy, by way of comment. +“I’m going to see if I can’t keep this +one three months.”</p> + +<p>“Now let’s go,” said Sarah.</p> + +<p>“In a minute; I must carry my work up +first. I’m going to jump off—it’s real fun. +You see if I don’t go as far as that dandelion.”</p> + +<p>So Gypsy sprang from the tree, carrying a +shower of blossoms with her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, look out for the statue!” cried Sarah.</p> + +<p>The warning came too late. Gypsy fell +short of her mark, hit the water-nymph +heavily, and it fell with a crash into the +water, where the paved bottom was hard as +rock.</p> + +<p>“Just see what you’ve done!” said Sarah,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_118' id='Page_118'>[Pg 118]</a></span> +who had not a capacity for making comforting +remarks. “What do you suppose your +father will say?”</p> + +<p>Gypsy stood aghast. The water gurgled +over the fallen statue, whose pretty, upraised +hands were snapped at the wrist, and the +wondering face crushed in. There was a +moment’s silence.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you tell!” said Sarah at length; +“nobody saw it fall, and they’ll never think +you did it. You just seem surprised, and +keep still about it.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy flushed to her forehead.</p> + +<p>“Why, Sarah Rowe! how can you say such +a thing? I wouldn’t tell a lie for anything in +this world!”</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t be a lie!” said Sarah, looking +ashamed and provoked. “You needn’t say +you didn’t do it.”</p> + +<p>“It would be a lie!” said Gypsy, decidedly. +“He’d ask if anybody knew,—I +wouldn’t be so mean, even if I knew he<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_119' id='Page_119'>[Pg 119]</a></span> +couldn’t find out. I am going to tell him +this minute.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy started off, with her cheeks still very +red, up the garden paths and down the road, +and Sarah followed slowly. Gypsy’s sense of +honor had received too great a shock for her +to take pleasure just then in Sarah’s company, +and Sarah had an uneasy sense of having +lowered herself in her friend’s eyes, so the two +girls separated for the afternoon.</p> + +<p>It was about a mile to Mr. Breynton’s store. +The afternoon was warm for the season, and +the road dusty; but Gypsy ran nearly all the +way. She was too much troubled about the +accident to think of anything else, and in as +much haste to tell her father as some children +would have been to conceal it from him.</p> + +<p>Old Mr. Simms, the clerk, looked up over +his spectacles in mild astonishment, as Gypsy +entered the store flushed, and panting, and +pretty. To Mr. Simms, who had no children +of his own, and only a deaf wife and a lame<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_120' id='Page_120'>[Pg 120]</a></span> +dog at home for company, Gypsy was always +pretty, always “such a wonderful development +for a young person,” and always just +about right in whatever she did.</p> + +<p>“Why, good afternoon, Miss Gypsy,” said +Mr. Simms; “I’m surprised to see you such a +warm day—very much surprised. But you +always were a remarkable young lady.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” panted Gypsy; “where’s father, Mr. +Simms?”</p> + +<p>“He’s up in the printing-room just now, +talking with the foreman. Can I carry any +message for you, Miss Gypsy?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Simms,” said Gypsy, confidentially, +“I’ve done the most dreadful thing!”</p> + +<p>“Dear me! I don’t see how that is possible,” +said Mr. Simms, taking his spectacles off +nervously, and putting them on again.</p> + +<p>“I have,” said Gypsy; “I’ve broken the +water-nymph!”</p> + +<p>“Is that all?” asked Mr. Simms, looking relieved; +“why, how did it happen?”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_121' id='Page_121'>[Pg 121]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I jumped on it.”</p> + +<p><i>“Jumped on it!”</i></p> + +<p>“Yes; I’m sure I don’t know what father’ll +say.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I <i>must</i> say you are a wonderful +young person,” said Mr. Simms, proudly. +“I’m sure I’m glad that’s all. Don’t you +fret, my dear. Your father won’t care much +about water-nymphs, when he has such a +daughter.”</p> + +<p>“But he will,” said Gypsy, who regarded +Mr. Simm’s compliments only as a tiresome interruption +to conversation, and by no means as +entitled to any attention; “he will be very +sorry, and I am going to tell him right off. +Please, Mr. Simms, will you speak to him?”</p> + +<p>“Remarkable development of veracity!” +said Mr. Simms, as he bowed himself away in +his polite, old-fashioned way, and disappeared +up the stairway that led to the printing-rooms. +It seemed to Gypsy, waiting there so impatiently, +as if her father would never come<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_122' id='Page_122'>[Pg 122]</a></span> +down. But come he did +at last, looking very +much surprised to see +her, and anxious to +know if the house were +on fire, or if Winnie +were drowned.</p> + + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-011' id='illus-011'></a> +<img src='images/illus-122.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<p>“No,” said Gypsy, +“nothing has happened,—I +mean nothing of that +sort. It’s only about me. I +have something to tell you.”</p> + +<p>“I think I will walk home with you,” said +her father. “There isn’t much going on Saturday +afternoons. Simms, you can lock up when +you go home to supper. I hope you haven’t +been giving your mother any trouble, or +thrown your ball into Mrs. Surly’s windows +again,” he added, nervously, as they passed out +of the door and up the street together.</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” said Gypsy, faintly; “it’s worse +than that.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_123' id='Page_123'>[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Breynton heaved a sigh, but said nothing.</p> + +<p>“I know you think I’m always up to mischief, +and I don’t suppose I’ll ever learn to be +a lady and know how not to break things, and +I’m so sorry, but I didn’t suppose there was any +harm in jumping off an apple-tree, and the +water-nymph went over and perhaps if you +sent me to school or something I’d learn better +where they tie you down to a great board,” said +Gypsy, talking very fast, and quite forgetting +her punctuation.</p> + +<p>“The water-nymph!” echoed Mr. Breynton.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Gypsy, dolefully; “right over, +head-first—into the pond—broken to smash!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Gypsy! that is too bad.”</p> + +<p>“I know it,” interrupted Gypsy; “I know it +was terribly careless—terribly. Did you ever +know anything so exactly like me? The worst +of it is, being sorry doesn’t help the matter. I +wish I could buy you another. Won’t you +please to take my five dollars, and I’ll earn +some more picking berries.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_124' id='Page_124'>[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I don’t want your money, my child,” +said Mr. Breynton, looking troubled and +puzzled. “I’m sorry the nymph is gone; but +somehow you do seem to be different from +other girls. I didn’t know young ladies ever +jumped.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy was silent. Her father and mother +seemed to think differently about these things. +To her view, and she felt sure, to her mother’s, +the fault lay in the carelessness of not finding +out whether the image was in her way. She +could not see that she was doing anything +wrong in going out alone into an apple-tree, +and springing from a low bough, upon the soft +grass. Very likely, when she was a grown-up +young lady, with long dresses and hair done up +behind, she shouldn’t care anything about +climbing trees. But that was another question. +However, she had too much respect for +her father to say this. So she hung her head, +feeling very humble and sorry, and wondering +if Mr. Simms couldn’t plaster the nymph together<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_125' id='Page_125'>[Pg 125]</a></span> +somehow, he was always so ready to do +things for her.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said her father, after a moment’s +thought, in which he had been struggling with +a sense of disappointment at the destruction of +his statue, that would have made a less kind-hearted +man scold.</p> + +<p>“Well, it can’t be helped; and as to the +climbing trees, I suppose your mother knows +best. I am glad you came and told me, anyway—very +glad. You are a truthful child, +Gypsy, in spite of your faults.”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t bear to tell lies,” said Gypsy, +brightening a little.</p> + +<p>It is possible this was another one of the +reasons why people had such a habit of loving +Gypsy. What do you think?</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 400px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-012' id='illus-012'></a> +<img src='images/illus-126.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='link-8160' id='link-8160'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_126' id='Page_126'>[Pg 126]</a></span> +<h2>Chapter VII</h2><h3>JUST LIKE GYPSY</h3> +</div> + +<p>One afternoon Gypsy was coming home +from the post-office. It was a rare +June day. The great soft shadows fell and +faded on the mountains, and the air was +sweet with the breath of a hundred fields +where crimson clovers nodded in the sleepy +wind. It seemed to Gypsy that she had +never seen such mellow sunlight, or skies +so pure and blue; that no birds ever sung +such songs in the elm-trees, and never were +butterflies so golden and brown and beautiful +as those which fluttered drowsily over the tiny +roadside clovers. The thought came to her like<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_127' id='Page_127'>[Pg 127]</a></span> +a little sudden heart-throb, that thrilled her +through and through, that this world was a very +great world, and very beautiful,—it seemed so +alive and happy, from the arch of the blazing +sky down to the blossoms of the purple weeds +that hid in the grass. She wondered that she +had never thought of it before. How many +millions of people were enjoying this wonderful +day! What a great thing it was to live in +such a world, where everything was so beautiful +and useful and happy! The very fact that +she was alive in it made her so glad. She +felt as if she would like to go off on the rocks +somewhere, and shout and jump and sing.</p> + +<p>As she walked slowly along past the stores +and the crowded tenement-houses, swinging +her little letter-basket on her arm, and dreaming +away with her great brown eyes, as such +young eyes will always dream upon a summer’s +day, there suddenly struck upon that +happy thought of hers a mournful sound.</p> + +<p>It was a human groan.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_128' id='Page_128'>[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>It grated on Gypsy’s musing, as a file grates +upon smooth marble; she started, and looked +up. The sound came from an open window +directly over her head. What could anybody +be groaning about such a day as this? Gypsy +felt a momentary impatience with the mournful +sound; then a sudden curiosity to know +what it meant. A door happened to be open +near her, and she walked right in, without a +second thought, as was the fashion in which +Gypsy usually did things. A pair of steep +stairs led up from the bit of an entry, and a +quantity of children, whose faces and hands +were decidedly the worse for wear, were playing +on them.</p> + +<p>“How do you do?” said Gypsy. The children +stared.</p> + +<p>“Who lives here?” asked Gypsy, again. +The children put their fingers in their mouths.</p> + +<p>“Who is that groaning so?” persisted +Gypsy, repressing a strong desire to box their +ears. The children crawled a little further<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_129' id='Page_129'>[Pg 129]</a></span> +up-stairs, and peered at her from between their +locks of shaggy hair, as if they considered her +a species of burglar. At this moment a side +door opened, and a red-faced woman, who was +wiping her hands on her apron, put her head +out into the entry, and asked, in rather a surly +tone, what was wanted.</p> + +<p>“Who is that groaning?” repeated Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s nobody but Grandmother Littlejohn,” +said the woman, with a laugh, “she’s +always groanin’clock.”</p> + +<p>“But what does she groan for?” insisted +Gypsy, her curiosity nowise diminished to see +a person who could be “always groanin’clock,” +through not only one, but many, of such +golden summer days.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I s’pose she’s got reason enough, for +the matter of that,” said the woman, carelessly; +“she’s broke a bone,—though she do +make a terrible fuss over it, and very onobligin’clock +it is to the neighbors as has the lookin’clock after +of her.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_130' id='Page_130'>[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Broken a bone! Poor thing, I’m going +right up to see her!” said Gypsy, whose compassion +was rising fast.</p> + +<p>“Good luck to you!” said the woman, with a +laugh Gypsy did not like very much. It only +strengthened her resolution, however, and she +ran up the narrow stairs scattering the children +right and left.</p> + +<p>Several other untidy-looking women opened +doors and peered out at her as she went by; +but no one else spoke to her. Guided by +the sound of the groans, which came at regular +intervals like long breaths, she went up a +second flight of stairs, more narrow and more +dark than the first, and turned into a little +low room, the door of which stood open.</p> + +<p>“Who’s there!” called a fretful voice from +inside.</p> + +<p>“I,” said Gypsy; “may I come in?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know who you be,” said the voice, +“but you may come ’long ef you want to.”</p> + + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-013' id='illus-013'></a> +<img src='images/illus-131.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<p>Gypsy accepted the somewhat dubious invitation.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_131' id='Page_131'>[Pg 131]</a></span> +The room was in sad disorder, and +very dusty. An old yellow cat sat blinking at +a sunbeam, and an old, yellow, +wizened woman +lay upon the +bed. Her forehead +was all drawn and knotted with pain, +and her mouth looked just like her voice—fretful +and sharp. She turned her head +slowly, as Gypsy entered, but otherwise she<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_132' id='Page_132'>[Pg 132]</a></span> +did not alter her position; as if it were one +which she could not change without pain.</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon,” said Gypsy, feeling a little +embarrassed, and not knowing exactly what +to say, now she was up there.</p> + +<p>“Good arternoon,” said Grandmother Littlejohn, +with a groan.</p> + +<p>“I heard you groan out in the street,” said +Gypsy, rushing to the point at once; “I came +up to see what was the matter.”</p> + +<p>“Matter?” said the old woman sharply, “I +fell down stairs and broke my ankle, that’s the +matter, an’clock I wonder the whole town hain’t +heerd me holler,—I can’t sleep day nor night +with the pain, an’clock it’s matter enough, I think.”</p> + +<p>“I’m real sorry,” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Littlejohn broke into a fresh spasm of +groaning at this, and seemed to be in such suffering, +that it made Gypsy turn pale to hear +her.</p> + +<p>“Haven’t you had a doctor?” she asked, +compassionately.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_133' id='Page_133'>[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Laws yes,” said the old woman. “Had a +doctor! I guess I have, a young fellar who +said he was representative from somewhere +from Medical Profession, seems to me it war, +but I never heerd on’t, wharever it is, an’clock he +with his whiskers only half growed, an’clock puttin’clock +of my foot into a wooden box, an’clock murderin’clock +of me—I gave him a piece of my mind, and he +hain’t come nigh me since, and I won’t have +him agin noways.”</p> + +<p>“But they always splinter broken limbs,” +said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Splinters?” cried the old woman; “I tell +ye I fell down stairs! I didn’t get no splinters +in.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy concluded to suppress her surgical information.</p> + +<p>“Who takes care of you?” she asked, suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Nobody! <i>I</i> don’t want nobody takin’clock care +of me when I ain’t shut up in a box on the bed, +an’clock now I am, the neighbors is shy enough of<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_134' id='Page_134'>[Pg 134]</a></span> +troublin’clock themselves about me, an’clock talks of the +work-house. I’ll starve fust!”</p> + +<p>“Who gives you your dinners and suppers?” +asked Gypsy, beginning to think Grandmother +Littlejohn was a very ill-treated +woman.</p> + +<p>“It’s little enough I gets,” said the old +woman, groaning afresh; “they brings me up +a cup of cold tea when they feels like it, and +crusts of bread, and I with no teeth to eat ’em. +I hain’t had a mouthful of dinner this day, and +that’s the truth, now!”</p> + +<p>“No dinner,” cried Gypsy. “Why, how +sorry I am for you! I’ll go right home and get +you some, and tell my mother. She’ll take +care of you—she always does take care of +everybody.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a pretty little gal,” said Mrs. Littlejohn, +with a sigh; “an’clock I hope you’ll be rewarded +for botherin’clock yourself about a poor old +woman like me. Does your ma use white +sugar? I like white sugar in my tea.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_135' id='Page_135'>[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said Gypsy, rather pleased than +otherwise to be called a “pretty little gal.” +“Oh yes; we have a whole barrel full. You +can have some just as well as not; I’ll bring +you down a pound or so, and I have five dollars +at home that you might have. What would +you like to have me get for you?”</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said Mrs. Littlejohn; “what +a angel of mercy to the poor and afflicted you +be! I should like some fresh salmon and +green peas, now, if I could get ’em.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said Gypsy; “I’ll hurry home +and see about it.”</p> + +<p>Accordingly she left the old woman groaning +out her thanks, and went down the narrow +stairs, and into the street.</p> + +<p>She ran all the way home, and rushed into +the parlor where her mother was sitting +quietly sewing. She looked up as the door +burst open, and Gypsy swept in like a little +hurricane, her turban hanging down her neck, +her hair loose and flying about an eager face<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_136' id='Page_136'>[Pg 136]</a></span> +that was all on fire with its warm crimson +color and twinkling eyes.</p> + +<p>“Why Gypsy!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother, such an old woman—such a +poor old woman! groaning right out in the +street—I mean, I was out in the street, and +heard her groan up two flights of the <i>crook</i>edest +stairs, and she broke her ankle, and +the neighbors won’t give her anything to +eat, unless she goes to the poor-house and +starves, and she hasn’t had any dinner, +and——”</p> + +<p>“Wait a minute, Gypsy; what does all this +mean?”</p> + +<p>“Why, she fell down those horrid stairs and +broke her ankle, and wants some salmon and +green peas, and I’m going to give her my +five dollars, and——Oh, white sugar, some +white sugar for her tea. I never heard anybody +groan so, in all my life!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Breynton laid down her work, and +laughed.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_137' id='Page_137'>[Pg 137]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Why, mother!” said Gypsy, reddening, +“I don’t see what there is to laugh at!”</p> + +<p>“My dear Gypsy, you would laugh if you +had heard your own story. The most I can +make out of it is, that a little girl who is so +excited she hardly knows what she is talking +about, has seen an old woman who has been +begging for fresh salmon.”</p> + +<p>“And broken her ankle, and is starving,” +began Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Stop a minute,” interrupted Mrs. Breynton, +gently. “Sit down and take off your +things, and when you get rested tell me the +story quietly and slowly, and then we will see +what is to be done for your old woman.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy, very reluctantly, obeyed. It seemed +to her incredible that any one could be so +quiet and composed as her mother was, when +there was an old woman in town who had had +no dinner. However, she sat still and fanned +herself, and when she was rested, she managed +to tell her story in as connected and rational<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_138' id='Page_138'>[Pg 138]</a></span> +manner, and with as few comments and exclamations +of her own, as Gypsy was capable +of getting along with, in any narration.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said her mother, when it was +finished; “I begin to understand things better. +Let me see: in the first place, you felt so +sorry for the old woman, that you went alone +into a strange house, among a sort of people +you knew nothing about, and without stopping +to think whether I should be willing to have +you—wasn’t that so?”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m,” said Gypsy, hanging her head a +little; “I didn’t think—she did groan so.”</p> + +<p>“Then Mrs. Littlejohn seems to like to +complain, it strikes me.”</p> + +<p>“Complain!” said Gypsy, indignantly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, a little. However, she might have +worse faults. The most remarkable thing +about her seems to be her modest request for +salmon and white sugar. You propose giving +them to her?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes’m,” said Gypsy, promptly.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_139' id='Page_139'>[Pg 139]</a></span> +“She’s in such dreadful pain. When I sprained +my wrist, you gave me nice things to eat.”</p> + +<p>“But it wouldn’t follow that I should give +Mrs. Littlejohn the same,” said Mrs. Breynton, +gently. “Salmon and white sugar are +expensive luxuries. I might be able to do +something to help Mrs. Littlejohn, but I +might not be able to afford to take her down +the two or three pounds of sugar you promised +her, nor to spend several dollars on fresh +salmon—a delicacy which we have had on our +own table but once this season. Besides, +there are thirty or forty sick people in town, +probably, who are as poor and as much in +need of assistance as this one old woman. +You see, don’t you, that I could not give +salmon and peas and white sugar to them +all, and it would be unwise in me to spend +all my money on one, when I might divide it, +and help several people.”</p> + +<p>“But there’s my five dollars,” said Gypsy, +only half convinced.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_140' id='Page_140'>[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Very well, supposing I were to let you +give it all away to Mrs. Littlejohn, even if she +were the most worthy and needy person that +could be found in town, what then? It is all +gone. You have nothing more to give. The +next week a poor little girl who has no hat, +and can’t go to Sunday-school, excites your +sympathy, and you would be glad to give +something toward buying her a hat—you +have not a copper. You go to Monthly Concert, +and want to drop something into the +contribution box, but Mrs. Littlejohn has eaten +up what you might have given. You want to +do something for the poor freedmen, who are +coming into our armies; you cannot do it, for +you have nothing to give.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Gypsy, with a ludicrous expression +of conviction and discomfiture, “I +suppose so; I didn’t think.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Didn’t think!</i>—the old enemy, Gypsy. +And now that I have pointed out the little +mistakes you made this afternoon, I want to<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_141' id='Page_141'>[Pg 141]</a></span> +tell you, Gypsy, how pleased I am that you +were so quick to feel sorry for the old woman, +and so ready to be generous with your own +money and help. I would rather have you fail +a dozen times on the unselfish side, than to +have you careless and heartless towards the +people God has made poor, and in suffering——there! +I have given you a long sermon. +Do you think mother is always scolding?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Breynton drew her into her arms, and +gave her one of those little soft kisses on the +forehead, that Gypsy liked so much. “I will +go down and see the old woman after supper,” +she said, then.</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t you go before?” suggested +Gypsy. “She said she hadn’t had any +dinner.”</p> + +<p>“We can’t do things in too much of a hurry; +not even our charities,” said Mrs. Breynton, +smiling. “I have some work which I cannot +leave now, and I have little doubt the woman +had some dinner. The poor are almost always<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_142' id='Page_142'>[Pg 142]</a></span> +very kind neighbors to each other. I will be +there early enough to take her some supper.”</p> + +<p>So Gypsy was comforted for Mrs. Littlejohn.</p> + +<p>It was nearly dark when Mrs. Breynton +came up from the village, with her pleasant +smile, and her little basket that half Yorkbury +knew so well by sight, for the biscuit and the +jellies, the blanc-mange, and the dried beef +and the cookies, that it brought to so many +sick-beds. Gypsy had been watching for her +impatiently, and ran down to the gate to meet +her.</p> + +<p>“Well, did you find her?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes.”</p> + +<p>“What do you think of her?” asked Gypsy, +a little puzzled by her mother’s expression.</p> + +<p>“She is a good deal of a scold, and something +of a sufferer,” said Mrs. Breynton. +Gypsy’s face fell, and they walked up to the +house in silence.</p> + +<p>“Then you’re not going to do anything for<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_143' id='Page_143'>[Pg 143]</a></span> +her?” asked Gypsy, at length, in a disappointed +tone.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. She needs help. She can’t be +moved to the poor-house now, and, besides, is +likely to get well before long, if she is properly +taken care of. I gave her her supper, and have +arranged with one or two of the ladies to send +her meals for a few days, till we see how she is, +and what had better be done. I take care of +her to-morrow, and Mrs. Rowe takes her the +next day.”</p> + +<p>“Good!” said Gypsy, brightening; “and I +may take her down the things, mayn’t I, +mother?”</p> + +<p>“If you want to.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy went to bed as happy as a queen.</p> + +<p>The next morning she rose early, to be sure +to be in time to take Mrs. Littlejohn’s breakfast; +and was disappointed enough, when her +mother thought it best she should wait till she +had eaten her own. However, on the strength +of the remembrance of her mother’s tried and<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_144' id='Page_144'>[Pg 144]</a></span> +proved wisdom, on certain other little occasions, +she submitted with a good grace.</p> + +<p>She carried Mrs. Littlejohn a very good +breakfast of griddle-cakes and fish-balls and +sweet white bread, and was somewhat taken +aback to find that the old woman received it +rather curtly, and asked after the salmon.</p> + +<p>It was very warm at noon. When she carried +the dinner, the walk was long and wearisome, +and Mrs. Littlejohn neglected to call her +an angel of mercy, and it must be confessed +Gypsy’s enthusiasm diminished perceptibly.</p> + +<p>That evening Mr. and Mrs. Breynton were +out to tea, and Tom was off fishing. Mrs. +Breynton left Mrs. Littlejohn’s supper in a +basket on the shelf, and told Gypsy where it +was. Gypsy had been having a great frolic in +the fresh hay with Sarah Rowe, and came in +late. No one but Winnie was there. She ate +her supper in a great hurry, and went out +again. Patty saw her from the window, and +concluded she had gone to Mrs. Littlejohn’s.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_145' id='Page_145'>[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>That night, about eleven o’clock, some one +knocked at Mrs. Breynton’s door, and woke +her up.</p> + +<p>“Who is it?” she called.</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother Breynton!” said a doleful +voice; “what <i>do</i> you suppose I’ve done now?”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Mrs. Breynton, +with a resigned sigh.</p> + +<p>“I hope she hasn’t been walking in her sleep +again,” said Mr. Breynton, nervously.</p> + +<p>“Forgotten Mrs. Littlejohn’s supper,” said +the doleful voice through the key-hole.</p> + +<p>“Why, Gypsy!”</p> + +<p>“I know it,” said Gypsy, humbly. “Couldn’t +I dress and run down?”</p> + +<p>“Why, no indeed! it can’t be helped now. +Run back to bed.”</p> + +<p>“Just like Gypsy, for all the world!” said +Tom, the next morning. “Always so quick +and generous, and sorry for people, and ready +to do, and you can depend on her just about +as much as you could on a brisk west wind!”</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 400px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-014' id='illus-014'></a> +<img src='images/illus-146.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='link-8264' id='link-8264'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_146' id='Page_146'>[Pg 146]</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2><h3>PEACE MAYTHORNE</h3> +</div> + +<p>“After you have seen Mrs. Littlejohn, and +explained why she went supperless last +night,” said Mrs. Breynton, “I want you to +do an errand for me.”</p> + +<p>“What is it?” asked Gypsy, pleasantly. She +felt very humble, and much ashamed, this +morning, and anxious to make herself useful.</p> + +<p>“I want you to find out where Peace Maythorne’s +room is,—it is in the same house,—and +carry her this, with my love.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Breynton took up a copy of “Harper’s +Magazine,” and handed it to Gypsy.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_147' id='Page_147'>[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Tell her I have turned the leaf down at +some articles I think will interest her, and ask +her if the powder I left her put her to sleep.”</p> + +<p>“Who is Peace Maythorne?” asked Gypsy, +wondering. “Is she poor?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“How funny to send her a ‘Harper’s,’” said +Gypsy. “Why don’t you give her some +money, or something?”</p> + +<p>“Some things are worth more than money +to some people,” said Mrs. Breynton, smiling.</p> + +<p>“Why! then you had been into that house +before I found Mrs. Littlejohn?” said Gypsy, +as the thought first struck her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; many times.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy started off, with the Magazine under +her arm, wondering if there were a house in +town, filled with these wretched poor, in which +her mother was not known as a friend.</p> + +<p>Her heart sank a little as she climbed the +dark stairs to Mrs. Littlejohn’s room. She had +begged of her mother a tiny pailful of green<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_148' id='Page_148'>[Pg 148]</a></span> +peas, with which she hoped to pacify the old +woman, but she was somewhat in dread of +hearing her talk, and ashamed to confess her +own neglect.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Littlejohn was eating the very nice +breakfast which Mrs. Rowe had sent over, +and groaning dolefully over it, as Gypsy +entered.</p> + +<p>“Good morning,” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Good morning,” said Mrs. Littlejohn, +severely.</p> + +<p>“I went out to play in the hay with Sarah +Rowe, and forgot all about your supper last +night, and I’m just as sorry as I can be,” said +Gypsy, coming to the point frankly, and without +any attempt to excuse herself.</p> + +<p>“Oh, of course!” said Mrs. Littlejohn, in the +tone of a martyr. “It’s all I expect. I’m a +poor lone widdy with a bone broke, and I’m +used to bein’clock forgot. Little gals that has +everything they want, and five dollars besides, +and promises me salmon and such, couldn’t be<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_149' id='Page_149'>[Pg 149]</a></span> +expected to remember the sufferin’clock and +afflicted,—of course not.”</p> + +<p>It was not an easy nor a pleasant thing to +apologize to a person to whom she had played +the charitable lady the day before; and Mrs. +Littlejohn’s manner of receiving the explanation +certainly made it no easier. But Gypsy, +as the saying goes, “swallowed her pride,” and +felt that she deserved it.</p> + +<p>“I’ve brought you some peas,” she said, +meekly.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said the old woman, relenting a +little, “you have, have you? Well, I’m +obleeged to you, and you can set ’em in the +cupboard.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy emptied her peas into a yellow bowl +which she found in the cupboard, and then +asked,—</p> + +<p>“Can I do anything for you?”</p> + +<p>“I’m terrible thirsty!” said Mrs. Littlejohn, +with a long groan. “There’s some water in +that air pail.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_150' id='Page_150'>[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gypsy went into the corner where the pail +stood, and filled the mug with water; then, not +being able to think of anything more to say, +she concluded to go.</p> + +<p>“Good mornin’clock,” said Mrs. Littlejohn, in a +forgiving tone; “I hope you’ll come agin.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy secretly thought it was doubtful if she +ever did. Her charity, like that of most young +people of her age and experience, was not of +the sort calculated to survive under difficulties, +or to deal successfully with shrewish old +women.</p> + +<p>After inquiring in vain of the group of staring +children where Peace Maythorne’s room +was, Gypsy resorted to her friend, the red-faced +woman, who directed her to a door upon the +second story.</p> + +<p>It was closed, and Gypsy knocked.</p> + +<p>“Come in,” said a quiet voice. Gypsy went +in, wondering why Peace Maythorne did not +get up and open the door, and if she did not +know it was more polite. She stopped short,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_151' id='Page_151'>[Pg 151]</a></span> +as she entered the room, and wondered no +longer.</p> + +<p>It was a plain, bare room, but neat enough, +and not unpleasant nor unhomelike, because of +the great flood of morning sunlight that fell in +and touched everything to golden warmth. It +touched most brightly, and lingered longest, on +a low bed drawn up between the windows. A +girl lay there, with a pale face turned over on +the pillows, and weak, thin hands, folded on +the counterpane. She might, from her size, +have been about sixteen years of age; but her +face was like the face of a woman long grown +old. The clothing of the bed partially concealed +her shoulders, which were cruelly +rounded and bent.</p> + +<p>So Peace Maythorne was a cripple.</p> + +<p>Gypsy recovered from her astonishment with +a little start, and said, blushing, for fear she +had been rude,—</p> + +<p>“Good morning. I’m Gypsy Breynton. +Mother sent me down with a magazine.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_152' id='Page_152'>[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I am glad to see you,” said Peace Maythorne, +smiling. “Won’t you sit down?”</p> + +<p>Gypsy took a chair by the bed, thinking how +pleasant the old, pale face, was, after all, and +how kindly and happy the smile.</p> + +<p>“Your mother is very kind,” said Peace; +“she is always doing something for me. She +has given me a great deal to read.”</p> + +<p>“Do you like to read?—I don’t,” said +Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes!” said Peace, opening her eyes +wide; “I thought everybody liked to read. +Besides I can’t do anything else, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing at all?” asked Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Only sometimes, when the pain isn’t very +bad, I try to help aunt about her sewing, I can’t +do much.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you live with your aunt?” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“Yes. She takes in sewing. She’s out, just +now.”</p> + +<p>“Does your back pain you a great deal?” +asked Gypsy.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_153' id='Page_153'>[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; all the time. But, then, I get +used to it, you know,” said Peace.</p> + + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-015' id='illus-015'></a> +<img src='images/illus-153.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<p>“<i>All the time!</i>—oh, I am so sorry!” said +Gypsy, drawing a long breath.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it might be worse,” said Peace, smiling.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_154' id='Page_154'>[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I’ve only lain here three years. Some people +can’t move for forty. The doctor says I sha’n’t +live so long as that.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy looked at the low bed, the narrow +room, the pallid face and shrunken body +cramped there, moveless, on the pillows. +Three years! Three years to lie through summer +suns and winter snows, while all the world +was out at play, and happy!</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Gypsy, as the most appropriate +comment suggesting itself; “you <i>are</i> rather +different from Mrs. Littlejohn!”</p> + +<p>Peace smiled. There was something rare +about Peace Maythorne’s smile.</p> + +<p>“Poor Mrs. Littlejohn! You see, she isn’t +used to being sick, and I am; that makes the +difference.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I forgot!” said Gypsy, abruptly, +“mother said I was to ask if those powders she +left you put you to sleep.”</p> + +<p>“Nicely. They’re better than anything the +doctor gave me; everything your mother does<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_155' id='Page_155'>[Pg 155]</a></span> +seems to be the best sort, somehow. She can’t +touch your hand, or smooth your pillow, without +doing it differently from other people.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so!” said Gypsy, emphatically. “There +isn’t anybody else like her. Do you lie awake +very often?”</p> + +<p>Peace answered in the two quiet words that +were on her lips so often, in the quiet voice that +never complained,—</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes.”</p> + +<p>There was a little silence. Gypsy was watching +Peace. Peace had her eyes turned away +from her visitor, but she was conscious of every +quick, nervous breath Gypsy drew, and every +impatient little flutter of her hands.</p> + +<p>The two girls were studying each other. +Gypsy’s investigations, whatever they were, +seemed to be very pleasant, for she started at +last with a bit of a sigh, and announced the result +of them in the characteristic words,—</p> + +<p>“I like you!”</p> + +<p>To her surprise, Peace just turned up her<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_156' id='Page_156'>[Pg 156]</a></span> +eyes and turned them away, and the eyes were +full of tears. After a moment,—</p> + +<p>“Thank you. I don’t see many people so +young—except the children. I tell them stories +sometimes.”</p> + +<p>“But you won’t like me,” said Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“I rather think I shall.”</p> + +<p>“No you won’t,” said Gypsy, shaking her +head decidedly; “not a bit. I know you won’t. +I’m silly,—well, I’ll tell you what I am by-and-by. +First, I want to hear all about you,—everything, +I mean,” she added, with a quick +delicacy, of which, for “blundering Gypsy,” she +had a great deal,—“everything that you care +to tell me.”</p> + +<p>“Why, I’ve nothing to tell,” said Peace, +smiling, “cooped up here all the time; it’s all +the same.”</p> + +<p>“That’s just what I want to hear about. +About the being cooped up. I don’t see <i>how +you bear it</i>!” said Gypsy, impetuously.</p> + +<p>Peace smiled again. Gypsy had a fancy that<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_157' id='Page_157'>[Pg 157]</a></span> +the smile had stolen one of the sunbeams that +lay in such golden, flickering waves, upon the +bed.</p> + +<p>Too much self-depreciation is often a sign of +the extremest vanity. Peace had nothing of +this. Seeing that Gypsy was in earnest in her +wish to hear her story, she quietly began it +without further parley. It was very simple, +and quickly told.</p> + +<p>“We used to live on a farm on the mountains—father +and mother and I. There were +a great many cattle, and so much ground it +tired me to walk across it. I always went to +school, and father read to us in the evenings. I +suppose that’s the way I’ve learned to love to +read, and I’ve been so glad since. I was pretty +small when they died,—first father, then +mother. I remember it a little; at least I remember +about mother,—she kissed me so, and +cried. Then Aunt Jane came for me, and +brought me here. We lived in a pleasant house +up the street, at first. I used to work in the<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_158' id='Page_158'>[Pg 158]</a></span> +mill, and earned enough to pay aunt what I +cost her. Then one day, when I was thirteen +years old, we were coming out at noon, all of +us girls, in a great hurry and frolic, and I felt +sick and dizzy watching the wheels go round, +and,—well, they didn’t mean to,—but they +pushed me, and I fell.”</p> + +<p>“Down stairs?”</p> + +<p>“All the way,—it was a long, crooked +flight. I struck my spine on every step.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Peace!” said Gypsy, half under her +breath.</p> + +<p>“I was sick for a little while; then I got +better. I thought it was all over. Then one +day I found a little curve between my shoulders, +and so,—well, it came so slowly I +hardly knew it, till at last I was in bed with +the pain. We had come here because it was +hard times, and aunt had to support me,—and +then there were the doctor’s bills.”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t he say you can <i>ever</i> get well? +never sit up a little while?”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_159' id='Page_159'>[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, no.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy gasped a little, as if she were suffocating.</p> + +<p>“And your aunt,—is she kind to you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes.”</p> + +<p>A certain flitting expression, that the face +of Peace caught with the words, Gypsy could +not help seeing.</p> + +<p>“But I mean, real kind. Does she love +you?”</p> + +<p>The girl’s cheek flushed to a pale, quick +crimson, then faded slowly.</p> + +<p>“She is very good to me. I am a great +trouble. You know I am not her own. It +is very hard for her that I can’t support +myself.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy said something just then, in her +innermost thought of thoughts, about Aunt +Jane, that Aunt Jane would not have cared to +hear.</p> + +<p>“If I could only earn something!” said +Peace, with a quick breath, that sounded like<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_160' id='Page_160'>[Pg 160]</a></span> +a sigh. “That is hardest of all. But it’s all +right somehow.”</p> + +<p>“Peace Maythorne!” said Gypsy, in a little +flash, “I don’t see! never to go out in the +wind and jump on the hay, and climb the +mountains, and run and row and snowball,—why, +it would <i>kill</i> me! And you lie here +so sweet and patient, and you haven’t said a +cross word all the while you’ve been telling +me about it. I don’t understand! How can +you, <i>can</i> you bear it?”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t, if I didn’t tell Him,” said +Peace, softly.</p> + +<p>“Whom?”</p> + +<p>“God.”</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. Gypsy looked +out of the window, winking very hard, and +Peace lay quite still upon the bed.</p> + +<p>“There!” said Gypsy, at last, with a jump. +“I shall be late to school.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Peace, “you haven’t told me +anything about yourself; you said you would.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_161' id='Page_161'>[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well,” said Gypsy, tying on her hat, +“that’s easy enough done. I’m silly and +cross, and forgetful and blundering.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe it,” said Peace, laughing.</p> + +<p>“I am,” said Gypsy, confidentially; “it’s +all true; and I’m always tearing my dresses, +and worrying father, and getting mad at +Winnie, and bothering Miss Melville, and +romping round, and breaking my neck! and +then, when things don’t go right, how I +scold!”</p> + +<p>Peace smiled, and looked incredulous.</p> + +<p>“It’s just so,” said Gypsy, giving a little +sharp nod to emphasize her words. “And +here you lie, and never think of being cross +and impatient, and love everybody and everybody +loves you, and—well, all I have to say +is, if I were you I should have scolded everybody +out of the house long before this!”</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t talk so about me,” said +Peace, a faint shadow of pain crossing her<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_162' id='Page_162'>[Pg 162]</a></span> +face. “You don’t know how wicked I am—nobody +knows; I am cross very often. +Sometimes when my back aches as if I +should scream, and aunt is talking, I hide +my face under the clothes, and don’t say a +word to her.”</p> + +<p>“You call <i>that</i> being cross!” said Gypsy, +with her eyes very wide open. She buttoned +on her sack, and started to go, but stopped a +minute.</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose you’d want me to come +again—I’m so noisy, and all.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I should be so glad!” said Peace, +with one of those rare smiles: “I didn’t dare +to ask you.”</p> + +<p>“Well; I’ll come. But I told you you +wouldn’t like me.”</p> + +<p>“I do,” said Peace. “I like you very +much.”</p> + +<p>“How funny!” said Gypsy. Then she +bade her good-by, and went to school.</p> + +<p>“Mother,” she said, at night, “did you<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_163' id='Page_163'>[Pg 163]</a></span> +have any particular reason in sending me to +Peace Maythorne?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps so,” said Mrs. Breynton, smiling. +“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, only I thought so. You were a +very wise woman.”</p> + +<p>A while after she spoke up, suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Mother, don’t the Quakers say good +matches are made in heaven?”</p> + +<p>“Who’s been putting sentimental ideas into +the child’s head?” said her father, in an undertone.</p> + +<p>“Why, Gypsy Breynton!” said Winnie, +looking very much shocked; “you hadn’t +ought to say such things. Of course, the +brimstone falls down from hell, and they +pick it up and put it on the matches!”</p> + +<p>“What made you ask the question?” said +Mrs. Breynton, when the laugh had subsided.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I was only thinking, I guessed Peace +Maythorne’s name was made in heaven. It +so exactly suits her.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_164' id='Page_164'>[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>After that, the cripple’s little quiet room +became one of the places Gypsy loved best in +Yorkbury.</p> + +<p>Two or three weeks after that Mrs. Littlejohn, +who had been gaining rapidly in strength +and good temper under Mrs. Breynton’s wise +and kindly care, took it into her head one +morning, when she was alone, to walk across +the room, and look out of the window. The +weakened limb was not in a fit state to be used +at all, and the shock given to it was very great. +Inflammation set in, and fever, and the doctor +shook his head, and asked if the old woman +had any friends living anywhere; if so, they +had better be sent for. But the poor creature +seemed to be desolate enough; declared she +had no relatives, and was glad of it; she only +wanted to be let alone, and she should get well +fast enough.</p> + +<p>She never said that when Mrs. Breynton +was in the room. Gypsy went down one +evening with her mother, to help her carry a<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_165' id='Page_165'>[Pg 165]</a></span> +bundle of fresh bed-clothing, and she was +astonished at the gentleness which had crept +into the old withered face and peevish voice. +Mrs. Littlejohn called her up to the bed, just +as she started to go.</p> + +<p>“I say, little gal, I told ye a fib the day ye +fust come. I did have a dinner, though it +war a terrible measly one—Mrs. Breynton, +marm!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Breynton stepped up to her.</p> + +<p>“What was that ye read t’other day, ’bout +liars not goin’clock into the kingdom of heaven?—I +’most forgot.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy crept out, softly. She was wondering +how her mother had managed her charity to +this fretful old woman so wisely, that her +words, unfitly spoken, were becoming a trouble +to herself, and her hours of increasing pain +turned into hours of late, faint repentance. +Perhaps the charm lay in a certain old book, +dog-eared and worn, and dusty from long disuse +on the cupboard shelf. This little book<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_166' id='Page_166'>[Pg 166]</a></span> +Mrs. Breynton had found, and she had read in +it many times, until that painful groaning +ceased.</p> + +<p>And so one night it chanced that the old +yellow cat sat blinking at the light, and the +yellow, furrowed face turned over on the pillow +and smiled, and lay still. The light +burned out, and the morning came; the cat +jumped purring upon the bed, and seeing what +was there, curled up by it, with a mournful +mewing cry.</p> + +<p>“Peace Maythorne says,” said Gypsy, “that +if Mrs. Littlejohn went to heaven, she will be +so happy <i>to find she doesn’t scold</i>! Isn’t it +funny, in Peace, to think of such things?”</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 400px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-016' id='illus-016'></a> +<img src='images/illus-167.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='link-8666' id='link-8666'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_167' id='Page_167'>[Pg 167]</a></span> +<h2>Chapter IX</h2><h3>CAMPING OUT</h3> +</div> + +<p>Do you remember Mr. Gough’s +famous story of the orator +who, with a great flourish +of rhetoric as prelude, announced +to his audience the startling fact +that there was a “gre—at difference in +people?” On the strength of this original +statement, it has been supposed that there +were a variety of tastes to be suited in +selecting for the readers of “Gypsy Breynton” +the most entertaining passages of this one +summer in her life. The last two chapters<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_168' id='Page_168'>[Pg 168]</a></span> +were for the quiet young people. This one +is for the lively young people—the people +who like to live out of doors, and have adventures, +and get into difficulties, and get over +them. The quiet people aforesaid need not +read it, if they don’t want to.</p> + +<p>Did you ever “camp out”?</p> + +<p>If you ever did, or ever very much wanted +to, you will know how Gypsy felt one morning +after her summer vacation had begun, and she +was wondering what she should do with herself +all day, when Tom came into her room +and said,—</p> + +<p>“Gypsy, don’t you wish you were a boy? +I’m going to spend a week at Ripton, with +Hallam.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hallam!” exclaimed Gypsy. Mr. +Guy Hallam was a lawyer about thirty years +old; but Tom had the natural boy’s feeling +about “mistering” any one, that he had gone +on fishing excursions with, ever since he could +remember; while Gypsy was more respectful.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_169' id='Page_169'>[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Ripton!” said Gypsy, again; “Oh, dear +me!”</p> + + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-017' id='illus-017'></a> +<img src='images/illus-169.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<p>“And going to camp out and have a fire, +and cook our trout, and shoot our rabbits,” +said Tom, with an aggravating appearance of<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_170' id='Page_170'>[Pg 170]</a></span> +indifference, as if these were only a specimen +of innumerable delights unmentioned.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear <i>me</i>!” said Gypsy, with a long +sigh.</p> + +<p>“There are several disadvantages in being +a girl, my dear, as you will find out, +occasionally,” said Tom, with a lordly +air.</p> + +<p>“Girls are just as good as boys!” answered +Gypsy, flashing up.</p> + +<p>“Only they can’t camp out.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not so sure of that, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!”</p> + +<p>“Girls do camp out; I’ve heard about it; +parties of ladies and gentlemen go out up on +the Adirondacks. You might take Sarah +Rowe and me.”</p> + +<p>Tom smiled a very superior smile.</p> + +<p>“Come, Tom, do—there’s a good fellow!”</p> + +<p>“Take along a couple of girls that can’t fish, +and scream when you shoot a squirrel, and are +always having headaches, and spraining their<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_171' id='Page_171'>[Pg 171]</a></span> +ankles, and afraid to be left alone? No, thank +you!”</p> + +<p>“I can fish, and I’m no more afraid to be +left alone than you are!” said Gypsy, indignantly. +“I’ll go and ask mother.”</p> + +<p>She ran down stairs, slamming all the doors, +and rushed noisily into the parlor.</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother! Tom’s going to camp out +with Mr. Guy Hallam, and can’t Sarah and I +go, too?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, what now?” said Mrs. Breynton, laughing, +and laying down her work.</p> + +<p>“Only for a week, mother, up Ripton—just +think! With a tent and a fire, and Mr. Hallam +to take care of us.”</p> + +<p>This last remark was a stroke of policy on +Gypsy’s part, for Tom had come in, and it +touched a bit of boy’s pride, of which Gypsy +was perfectly aware he had a good deal.</p> + +<p>“As if I couldn’t take as good care of you +as Guy Hallam, or the next man!” he said, +in an insulted tone.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_172' id='Page_172'>[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Then Tom is willing you should go,” observed +Mrs. Breynton.</p> + +<p>“Why—I don’t know,” said Tom, who had not +intended to commit himself; “I didn’t say so.”</p> + +<p>“But you will say so—now, there’s a dear, +good Tom!” said Gypsy, giving him a soft +kiss on one cheek. Gypsy did not very often +kiss Tom unless he asked her, and it was the +best argument she could have used; for, +though Tom always pretended to be quite +above any interest in such tender proceedings, +yet this rogue of a sister looked so pink +and pretty and merry, with her arms about +his neck and her twinkling eyes looking into +his, that there was no resisting her. Gypsy +was quite conscious of this little despotism, +and was enough of a diplomatist to reserve it +for rare and important occasions.</p> + +<p>“We—ell,” said Tom, slowly; “I don’t +know as I care, if Hallam doesn’t—just for +once, you understand; you’re not to ask me +again as long as you live.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_173' id='Page_173'>[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + +<p>“There, there!” cried Gypsy, clapping her +hands, and jumping up and down. “Tom, +you are a cherub—a wingless cherub. Now, +mother!”</p> + +<p>“But supposing it rains?” suggested Mrs. +Breynton.</p> + +<p>“Oh, we’ll take our water-proofs.”</p> + +<p>“The tent will be dry enough,” put in +Tom, bringing in his forces like a good soldier, +now he was fairly enlisted.</p> + +<p>“But if you catch cold and get sick, my +dear; Tom won’t want to cut short his excursion +to bring you home.”</p> + +<p>“There’s Mr. Fisher, right on top of the +mountain; he’d bring me in his wagon. Besides, +I wouldn’t be silly enough to get sick.”</p> + +<p>“But Sarah might.”</p> + +<p>“Sarah does as I tell her,” said Gypsy, significantly. +“I should take care of her.”</p> + +<p>“But Mrs. Rowe may not be willing Sarah +should go, and Mr. Guy Hallam must be asked, +Gypsy.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_174' id='Page_174'>[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well, but——,” persisted Gypsy; “if Mrs. +Rowe and Mr. Hallam and everybody are willing, +may I go?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mrs. Breynton, after a few minutes’ +thinking, “I guess so; if Tom will take +good care of you; and if you will promise to go +to Mr. Fisher’s the rainy nights—I mean if it +rains hard.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother, mother Breynton! There +never was such a dear little woman in this +world!”</p> + +<p>“Why, my <i>dear</i>!” said Mr. Breynton, when +he heard of it; “how can you let the child do +such a thing? She will fall off the precipice, or +walk right into a bear’s den, the first thing.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’ll trust her,” answered her mother, +smiling; “and then, Mrs. Fisher will be so +near, and so ready to take care of her if it is +cold or wet; it isn’t as if she were going off +into a wild place; of course, then, I shouldn’t +let her go without some grown woman with +them.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_175' id='Page_175'>[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well, my dear, I suppose you know best. +I believe I agreed to let you do as you pleased +with your girl, seeing she’s the only one.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rowe was willing if Mrs. Breynton +were willing; Mr. Guy Hallam had no objections. +Sarah was delighted, Gypsy radiant, +Tom patronizing, and Winnie envious, and +so, amid a pleasant little bustle, the preparations +began, and one sunny morning the party +stowed themselves and their baggage comfortably +away in Mr. Surly’s double-seated +wagon (much to the horror of his excellent +wife, who looked out of the window, and wondered +if Miss Rowe did expect that wild young +un of hers to come home alive), and trotted +briskly out of Yorkbury, along the steep, uneven +road that led to the mountain.</p> + +<p>Ripton was a long ride from Yorkbury, and +the wagon was somewhat crowded, owing to +the presence of Mr. Surly, who was by no +means a thin man, and who acted as driver. +He was to return with his “team,” as the<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_176' id='Page_176'>[Pg 176]</a></span> +Vermont farmers invariably call their vehicles, +and when the party were ready to come home +Mr. Fisher was to be hired to bring them +down. It would have been unsafe for any but +an experienced driver to hold the reins on +those mountain roads, as Gypsy was convinced, +afresh, before the ride was over.</p> + +<p>For the first few miles the way led along the +beautiful valley of the Otter Creek, and then +grew suddenly steep as they began to ascend +the mountain. Such beautiful pictures unfolded +before them, as they wound slowly up, +that even Gypsy did not feel like talking, and +it was a very silent party.</p> + +<p>They passed through pine forests, dense +and still, where the wind was hoarse, and +startled squirrels flew over the fallen trunks and +boughs of ruined trees. They rode close to the +edge of sheer precipices four hundred feet +down, with trout-brooks, like silver threads, +winding through the gorges. Great walls of +rock rose above and around them, and seemed to<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_177' id='Page_177'>[Pg 177]</a></span> +shut them in with a frown. Sharp turns in the +road brought them suddenly to the edge of +abysses from which, in dark nights, they might +have easily ridden off. Gay flowers perfumed +the fresh, high winds, and rank mosses grew and +twined, and hung thickly upon old stones and +logs and roadside banks, where the mountain +sloped steeply. Far above were the tops of +those tall, sentinel trees, called, by Vermonters, +the Procession of Pines, the tower above +their lesser comrades two by two, regular, +solemn, and dark against the sky for miles of +forest-track. Between these were patches and +glimpses of a sky without a cloud. Gypsy had +seen it all many times before; but it was +always new and grand to her; it always made +the blood leap in her veins and the stars twinkle +in her eyes, and set her happy heart to dreaming +a world of pleasant dreams.</p> + +<p>She was leaning back against the wagon-seat, +with her face upturned, to watch the leaves +flutter in the distant forest-top, when Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_178' id='Page_178'>[Pg 178]</a></span> +Surly reined up suddenly, and the wagon +stopped with a jerk.</p> + +<p>“I declare!” said Mr. Guy Hallam.</p> + +<p>“Waal, this is sum’at of a fix neow,” said +Mr. Surly, climbing out over the wheel.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” asked Gypsy and +Sarah, in one breath, jumping up to see.</p> + +<p>“Matter enough,” said Tom.</p> + +<p>For, turning a sharp corner just ahead of +them, was a huge wood-cart, drawn by two +struggling horses. The road was just wide +enough for one vehicle; where their wagon +stood, it would have been simply impossible to +place two abreast. At their right, the wooded +slope rose like a wall. At their left, a gorge +two hundred feet deep yawned horribly, and +the trout-brook gurgled over its stones.</p> + +<p>“You hold on there,” shouted the driver of +the wood-cart; “I’ll turn in here anigh the +mountain. You ken git by t’other side, can’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“Reckon so,” said Mr. Surly, measuring the<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_179' id='Page_179'>[Pg 179]</a></span> +distance with his eye. He climbed in again, +and took the reins, and the driver of the wood-cart +wheeled up into a semi-circular widening +of the road where a sand-heap had been dug +away. The space left was just wide enough +for a carriage to pass closely without grazing +the wheels of the wood-cart, or the low log +which formed the only fence on the edge of the +ravine.</p> + +<p>“Oh, we shall certainly tip over and be +killed! Oh dear, let me get out!” cried Sarah, +as the wagon passed slowly forward.</p> + +<p>“Hush up!” said Gypsy, quickly. “Tom +won’t let us go, if you act so. Don’t you suppose +four grown men know better than we do +whether it’s safe? I’m not afraid a bit.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Gypsy and Tom, and even Mr. +Hallam, looked narrowly at the old frail log, +and down into the gorge where the water was +gurgling. Once the wheels grazed the log, and +it tilted slightly. Sarah screamed aloud. Mr. +Surly knew what he was about, however, and<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_180' id='Page_180'>[Pg 180]</a></span> +knew how to do it. He passed on safely into +the wider road, and the wood-cart rattled composedly +on.</p> + +<p>“There a’r’d a ben a purty close shave in the +night,” he remarked, coolly, pointing with his +whip down the precipice. “There was a team +went down here five years ago,—jist off that +maple-tree there,—horse, wagin, and all, an’clock +two men, brothers they was, too; one man +hung onto a branch or suthin’clock, and was ketched +and saved; t’other one got crushed to jelly. +It was a terrible dark night.”</p> + +<p>Even Gypsy gave a little shiver during this +entertaining conversation, and was glad they +had come up in the daytime.</p> + +<p>Mr. Surly drove to a certain by-road in the +woods, where he left them, and returned home; +and the party proceeded on foot, with their +baggage, to the place Mr. Hallam had chosen +as a camp-ground.</p> + +<p>It was a pleasant spot, far enough in the +woods to be still and wild, near enough to the<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_181' id='Page_181'>[Pg 181]</a></span> +little settlement on top of the mountain to be +free from bears, as Sarah had required to be +informed ten separate times, on the way. +There was a little, natural clearing among the +trees, which Mr. Hallam and Tom made larger +by cutting down the shrubbery and saplings. +They had brought hatchets with them, as well +as guns, knives, and fish-hooks. It seemed +very warlike and real, Gypsy thought—quite as +if they intended to spend the rest of their lives +there. She almost wished a party of Indians +would come and attack them, or a bear or a +wolf.</p> + +<p>Having selected a smooth, level spot for +the tents, Mr. Hallam thought they had better +put them up immediately. It chanced that he +and Tom each owned one, which was a much +better arrangement than the dividing of one +into two apartments. The two were placed +side by side, and the girls’ tent was distinguished +and honored by a bit of a flag on top, +and an extra fold of rubber-cloth in front, to<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_182' id='Page_182'>[Pg 182]</a></span> +keep out the rain. There was also a ditch dug +around it, to drain off the water in case of a +severe storm.</p> + +<p>“Besides, if it rains very hard, they can be +sent to Mr. Fisher’s,” said Tom.</p> + +<p>“Catch me!” said Gypsy. “Why, it would +be all the fun to sleep out in the rain.”</p> + +<p>While Mr. Hallam and Tom were setting up +the tents—and it took a long time—the two +girls busied themselves unpacking the baggage.</p> + +<p>They were really astonished to find how +much they had brought, when it was all taken +out of the baskets and boxes and bags, and +each article provided with a place within or +without the tents. To begin with, the little +girls had each a bag of such things as were +likely to be necessary for their mountain toilet, +consisting principally of dry stockings; for, as +Gypsy said, they expected to wet their feet +three or four times a day, and she should enjoy +it for once. Then they had brought their long +waterproof cloaks, in which they considered<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_183' id='Page_183'>[Pg 183]</a></span> +themselves safe from a deluge. There were +plenty of fish-lines, and tin pans and kettles, +and knives and steel forks, and matches, and +scissors and twine and needles, and the endless +variety of accoutrements necessary to a state of +highly-civilized camp-life. There were plates +and mugs and pewter teaspoons,—Mrs. Breynton +would not consent to letting her silver ones +go,—and Gypsy thought the others were +better, because it seemed more like “being +wild.” Indeed, she would have dispensed +with spoons altogether, but Sarah gave a little +scream at the idea, and thought she couldn’t +possibly eat a meal without. Then the provision +basket was full of bread and butter and +cake and pies, and summer apples and salt and +pepper, and Indian meal and coffee, and eggs +and raw meat, and fresh vegetables. They +expected, however, to live chiefly on the trout +which Mr. Hallam and Tom were to catch, +and Mrs. Fisher would supply them with fresh +milk from her dairy.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_184' id='Page_184'>[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + +<p>The girls made their toilet arrangements in +one corner of their tent. A rough box served +as a dressing-table, and Sarah had brought a +bit of a looking-glass, which she put on top of +it. They collected piles of sweet, dry leaves +for a bed, and a certain thoughtful mother had +tucked into their bags a pair of sheets and a +blanket; so they were nicely fitted out. Gypsy +had a secret apprehension that they were preparing +for a very luxurious sort of camp-life. +After a little consultation, they decided to +make two rooms out of their tent, as they +were sadly in need of a kitchen. Accordingly +they took their heavy blanket shawls, tied +them together by the fringe, and hung them +up as a curtain across the middle of the tent. +The front apartment served nicely as a +kitchen, and the provisions and crockery were +moved in there, in spite of Tom’s ungallant +remark that he and Mr. Hallam should never +see any of the pies he knew.</p> + +<p>By way of recompense, he took the guns,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_185' id='Page_185'>[Pg 185]</a></span> +and all dangerous implements, under his own +care.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was nearly spent, when their +preparations were at last completed, and they +were ready to begin house-keeping.</p> + +<p>“Let’s have supper,” said Gypsy. Gypsy +was always ready to have supper, whenever +dinner-time was passed.</p> + +<p>“We haven’t a single trout,” said Tom.</p> + +<p>“It is rather late to fish,” said Mr. Hallam. +“The little girls are tired and hungry,—indeed +we all are, for that matter,—and I guess +we will have supper.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy installed herself as housekeeper-in-general, +and she and Sarah lost no time in +unpacking the cake and bread and butter. +Tom collected some light, dry brushwood for +a fire, and he and Mr. Hallam made the coffee. +It seemed as if no supper had ever +tasted as that supper did. The free mountain +air was so fresh and strong, and the breath +of the pines so sweet. It was so pleasant to<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_186' id='Page_186'>[Pg 186]</a></span> +sit on the moss around a fire, and eat with +your fingers if you chose, without shocking +anybody. Then the woods looked so wide +and lonely and still, and it was so strange to +watch the great red sunset dying like a fire +through the thick green net-work, where the +pine-boughs and the maple interlaced.</p> + +<p>For about five minutes after supper was +cleared away, when the great shadows began +to darken among the trees, Sarah discoursed in +a vague, scientific way, about the habits of +bears, and Gypsy had a dim notion that she +shouldn’t so very much object to see her +mother come walking up the mountain, seized +with an uncontrollable desire to spend a night +in a tent. But Tom was so pleasant and merry, +and Mr. Hallam told such funny stories, that +they were laughing before they knew it, and +the evening passed happily away.</p> + +<p>Gypsy could not sleep for some time that +night, for delight at spending a night out doors +in a real tent on a real mountain, that was<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_187' id='Page_187'>[Pg 187]</a></span> +known to have an occasional real bear on it. +She did not feel afraid in the least, although +Sarah had a very uncomfortable way of asking +her, every ten minutes, if she were perfectly +<i>sure</i> it was safe.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t!” said Gypsy, at last. “I am +having such a good time thinking that I’m +really here. You go to sleep.”</p> + +<p>Sarah was so much accustomed to doing as +Gypsy told her, that she turned over and went +to sleep without another word. It was not a +good thing for Gypsy to be so much with just +such a girl as Sarah. She was physically the +weaker of the two, as well as the more timid, +and she had fallen into a habit of obeying, and +Gypsy of commanding, by a sort of mutual +tacit agreement. It was partly for this reason, +as was natural enough, that Gypsy chose her +so often for a companion, but principally because +Sarah never refused any romp or adventure; +other timid girls liked to have their own +way and choose their own quiet plays. Sarah’s<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_188' id='Page_188'>[Pg 188]</a></span> +timidity yielded to Gypsy’s stronger will. If +Gypsy took a fancy to climb a ruined windmill, +Sarah would scream all the way, but follow. If +Gypsy wanted to run at full speed down a dangerous +steep hill, where there were walls to be +leaped, and loose, rolling stones to be dodged, +Sarah scolded a little, but went.</p> + +<p>A girl more selfish than Gypsy would have +been ruined by this sort of companionship. Her +frank, impulsive generosity saved her from becoming +tyrannical or dictatorial. The worst of +it was, that she was forced to form such a habit +of always taking the lead.</p> + +<p>She lay awake some time that night after +Sarah had fallen asleep, listening to the strange +whispers of the wind in the trees, and making +plans for to-morrow, until at last her happy +thoughts faded into happy dreams.</p> + +<p>She did not know how long she had been +asleep, when something suddenly woke her. +She was a little startled at first by the unfamiliar +sight of the tent-roof, and narrow, walled<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_189' id='Page_189'>[Pg 189]</a></span> +space which shut her in. The wind was sighing +drearily through the forest, the distant scream +of an owl had an ugly sound; and—why no—but +yes!—another sound, more ugly than the +cry of a night-bird, was distinct at the door of +the tent—the sound of a quick, panting breath!</p> + +<p>Gypsy sat upright in bed, and listened.</p> + +<p>It grew louder, and came nearer; quick, and +hoarse, and horrible—like the breathing of a +hungry animal.</p> + +<p>Sarah slept like a baby; there was not a +movement from Tom and Mr. Hallam in the +other tent; everything was still but that terrible +sound. Gypsy had good nerves and was +not easily frightened, but it must be confessed +she thought of those traditionary bears which +had been seen at Ripton. She had but a moment +in which to decide what to do, for the +creature was now sniffing at the tent-door, +and once she was sure she saw a dark paw lift +the sail-cloth. She might wake Sarah, but +what was the use? She would only scream,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_190' id='Page_190'>[Pg 190]</a></span> +and that would do no good, and might do much +harm. If it were a bear, and they kept still, he +might go away and leave them. Yet, if it were +a bear, Tom must know it in some way.</p> + +<p>All these thoughts passed through Gypsy’s +mind in that one instant, while she sat listening +to the panting of the brute without.</p> + +<p>Then she rose quickly and went on tiptoe to +the tent-door. Her hand trembled a little as +she touched the canvas gently—so gently that +it scarcely stirred. She held her breath, she +put her eye to the partition, she looked out and +saw——</p> + +<p>Mr. Fisher’s little black dog!</p> + +<p>Tom was awakened by a long, merry laugh +that rang out like a bell on the still night air, +and echoed through the forest. He thought +Gypsy must be having another fit of somnambulism, +and Sarah jumped up, with a scream, +and asked if it wasn’t an Indian.</p> + +<p>The night passed without further adventure, +and the morning sun woke the girls by peering<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_191' id='Page_191'>[Pg 191]</a></span> +in at a hole in the tent-roof, and making a little +round golden fleck, that danced across their +eyelids until they opened.</p> + +<p>They were scarcely dressed, when Tom’s +voice, with a spice of mischief in it, called +Gypsy from outside. The girls hurried out, and +there he sat with Mr. Hallam, before a crackling +fire over which some large fresh trout were +frying in Indian meal.</p> + +<p>“Oh, why didn’t you let us go, too?” said +Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“We took the time while you were asleep, +on purpose,” said Tom, in his provoking fashion. +“Nobody can do any fishing while girls +are round.”</p> + +<p>“Tom doesn’t deserve any for that speech,” +said Mr. Hallam, smiling; “and I shall have +to tell of him. It happens that I caught the +fish while a certain young gentleman was +dreaming.”</p> + +<p>“O—oh, Tom! Well; but, Mr. Hallam, +can’t we go fishing to-day?”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_192' id='Page_192'>[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>“To be sure, you can.”</p> + +<p>“How long do you suppose you’ll stand it?—girls +always give out in half an hour.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll stand it as long as you will, sir!”</p> + +<p>Tom whistled.</p> + +<p>The trout were done to that indescribable +luscious point of brown crispness, and the +breakfast was, if possible, better than the +supper.</p> + +<p>After breakfast, they started on a fishing +excursion down the gorge. It was a perfect +day. It seemed to the girls that no winds +from the valley were ever so sweet and pure as +those winds, and no lowland sunshine so +golden. The brook foamed and bubbled down +its steep, rocky bed, splashed up jets of rainbow +spray into the air, and plunged in miniature +cascades over tiny gullies; the wet stones +flashed in the light upon the banks, and tall +daisies, peering over, painted shifting white +outlines of themselves in the swelling current +and the shallow pools; here and there, too,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_193' id='Page_193'>[Pg 193]</a></span> +where the water was deep, the fish darted to +the surface, and darted out of sight.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it <i>beau</i>—tiful!” cried Sarah.</p> + +<p>“Pretty enough,” said Gypsy, affecting carelessness, +and trying to unwind her line in as +<i>au fait</i> and boyish a manner as possible.</p> + +<p>“You girls keep this pool. Mr. Hallam and +I are going a little ways up stream,” said Tom. +“Now don’t speak a word, and be sure you +don’t scream if you catch a fish by any chance +between you, and frighten them all away.”</p> + +<p>“As if I didn’t know that! Here, Sarah, +hold your rod lower,” said Gypsy, assuming a +professional air. Mr. Hallam and Tom walked +away, and the girls fished for just half an hour +in silence. That is to say, they sat on the +bank, and held a rod. Sarah had had one faint +nibble, but that was all that had happened, and +the sun began to be very warm.</p> + +<p>“I’m going out on those stones,” said +Gypsy. “I believe I see a fish out there.”</p> + +<p>So she stepped out carefully on the loose<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_194' id='Page_194'>[Pg 194]</a></span> +stones, which tilted ominously under her +weight.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you’ll fall!” said Sarah.</p> + +<p>“Hush—sh! I see one.”</p> + +<p>Up went the rod in the air with a jerk, over +went the stone, and down went Gypsy. She +disappeared from sight a moment in the shallow +water; then splashed up with a gasp, and +stood, dripping.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear me!” said Sarah.</p> + +<p>Tom came up, undecided whether to laugh +or scold.</p> + +<p>“Well, Gypsy Breynton, you’ve done it +now! Now I suppose you must go directly +home, and you’ll catch cold before you can get +there. This is a pretty fix!”</p> + +<p>“N—no,” gasped Gypsy, rubbing the water +out of her eyes; “I have dry clothes up in the +tent. Mother said I should want them. I +guess I’ll go right up. I’m—rather—wet, I +believe.”</p> + +<p>Tom looked at his watch, as Gypsy toiled<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_195' id='Page_195'>[Pg 195]</a></span> +dripping up the bank. The temptation was +too great to be resisted, and he called out,—</p> + +<p>“Precisely half an hour! Gypsy, my dear, +I’d stay all long, as the boys do, by all +means!” It was a very good thing about +Gypsy, that she was quite able to relish a joke +at her own expense. She laughed as merrily +as Tom did, and the morning’s adventure made +quite as much fun as they would have gained +from a string of perfectly respectable fishes, +properly and scientifically caught, with dry +feet and a warm seat on the bank under a glaring +sun. Mr. Hallam and Tom brought up +plenty for dinner; so no one went hungry.</p> + +<p>That afternoon, it chanced that the girls +were left alone for about one hour. Mr. Hallam +had taken Tom some distance up the +stream for a comfortable little fish by themselves, +and left the girls to prepare supper, +with strict injunctions not to go out of sight of +the tents.</p> + +<p>They were very well content with the arrangement<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_196' id='Page_196'>[Pg 196]</a></span> +for a while, but at last Gypsy became +tired of having nothing but the trees to +look at, and suggested a visit to the brook. +She had seen some checker-berry leaves growing +in the gorge, and was seized with a fancy +to have them for supper. Sarah, as usual, +made no objections, and they went.</p> + +<p>“It’s only just out of sight of the tent,” +said Gypsy, as they ran down over the +loose stones; “and we won’t be gone but a +minute.”</p> + +<p>But they were gone many minutes. They +had little idea how long the time had been, and +were surprised to find it growing rapidly dark +in the forest when they came panting back to +the tent, out of breath with the haste they had +made.</p> + +<p>“They must be back by this time,” said +Gypsy; “Tom!”</p> + +<p>There was no answer.</p> + +<p>“Tom! Thom-as! Mr. Hallam!”</p> + +<p>A bird chirped in a maple-bough overhead,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_197' id='Page_197'>[Pg 197]</a></span> +and a spark cracked out of the smouldering +hickory fire; there was no other sound.</p> + +<p>“I guess they’re busy in their tent,” said +Gypsy, going up to it. But the tent was +empty.</p> + +<p>“They haven’t come!” exclaimed Sarah.</p> + +<p>“It’s real mean in them to leave us here,” +said Gypsy, looking round among the trees.</p> + +<p>“You know,” suggested Sarah, timidly, +“you know Mr. Hallam said we were to stay +at the tents. Perhaps they came while we +were gone, and couldn’t find us, and have +gone to hunt us up.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Gypsy, quickly, “I forgot.” +She turned away her face a moment, so that +Sarah could not see it; then she turned back, +and said, slowly,—</p> + +<p>“Sarah, I’m very sorry I took you off. This +is rather a bad fix. We must make the best of +it now.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s call again,” said Sarah, faintly.</p> + +<p>They called again, and many times; but<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_198' id='Page_198'>[Pg 198]</a></span> +there was no reply. Everything was still but +the bird, and the sparks that crackled now +and then from the fire. The heavy gray +shadows grew purple and grew black. The +little foot-paths in the woods were blotted +out of sight, and the far sky above the tree-tops +grew dusky and dim.</p> + +<p>“We might go to Mr. Fisher’s,—do, Gypsy! +I can’t bear to stay here,” said Sarah, looking +around.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Gypsy, decidedly. “We can’t +go to Mr. Fisher’s, because that would mislead +them all the more. We must stay here +now till they come.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid!” said Sarah, clinging to her +arm; “it is so dark. Perhaps we’ll have to +stay here alone all night,—oh, Gypsy!”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense!” said Gypsy, looking as bold as +possible; “it wouldn’t be so dreadful if we +did. Besides, of course, we sha’n’t; they’ll +be back here before long. You go in the +tent, if you feel any safer there, and I’ll make<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_199' id='Page_199'>[Pg 199]</a></span> +up a bright fire. If they see it, they’ll know +we’ve come.”</p> + +<p>Sarah went into the tent, and covered her +head up in the bed-clothes; but in about ten +minutes she came back, feeling a little +ashamed of her timidity, and sat down by +Gypsy before the fire. It was a strange picture—the +ghostly white tents and tangled +brushwood gilded with the light; the great +forest stretching away darkly beyond; the +fitful shadows and glares from the flickering +fire that chased each other in strange, uncouth +shapes, among the leaves, and the two +children sitting there alone with frightened, +watching eyes.</p> + +<p>“I’m not a bit afraid,” said Gypsy, after a +silence, in a tone as if she were rather arguing +with herself than with Sarah. “I think it’s +rather nice. Tom left his gun all loaded, and +we can defend ourselves against anything. +I’m going to get it, and we’ll play we’re +Union refugees hiding in the South.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_200' id='Page_200'>[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<p>So she went into Tom’s tent, and brought +out his gun.</p> + +<p>“Look out!” said Sarah, shrinking, “it +may go off.”</p> + +<p>“Go off? Of course it can’t, unless I pull +the trigger. I know how to manage a gun,—hark! +what’s that?”</p> + +<p>“Oh dear, oh dear!” said Sarah, beginning +to cry. “I know it’s a bear.”</p> + +<p>“Hush! Let’s listen.”</p> + +<p>They listened. A curious, irregular tramping +round broke the stillness.</p> + +<p>Gypsy stood up quickly, and put the gun +into position upon her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t Tom and Mr. Hallam,—then +there would be two. This is only one, and +it doesn’t sound like a man, I declare.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s a bear, it’s a bear! We shall be +eaten up alive,—oh, Gypsy, Gypsy!”</p> + +<p>“Keep still! I can shoot him if it is; but I +know it isn’t; just wait and see.”</p> + +<p>The curious sound came nearer; tramped<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_201' id='Page_201'>[Pg 201]</a></span> +through the underbrush; crushed the dead +twigs. Gypsy’s finger was on the trigger; +her face a little pale. She thought the idea +of the bear all nonsense; she did not know +what she feared; the very mystery of the +thing had thoroughly frightened her.</p> + +<p>“Keep still, Sarah; you hit me. I don’t +want to fire till I see.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s coming, it’s coming!” cried Sarah, +starting back with a scream. She clung, in +her terror, to Gypsy’s arm; jerked it; the +trigger snapped, and a loud explosion echoed +and re-echoed and reverberated among the +trees.</p> + +<p>It was followed by a sound the most horrible +Gypsy had heard in all her life.</p> + +<p>It was a human cry. <i>It was Tom’s voice.</i></p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 400px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-018' id='illus-018'></a> +<img src='images/illus-202.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='link-6542' id='link-6542'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_202' id='Page_202'>[Pg 202]</a></span> +<h2>Chapter X</h2><h3>THE END OF THE WEEK</h3> +</div> + +<p>Gypsy threw down the gun, and +threw up her hands with +a curious quick motion, like +one in suffocation, who was +trying to find a voice; but she did not utter a +sound.</p> + +<p>There was an instant’s awful stillness. In +that instant, it seemed to Gypsy as if she had +lived a great many years; in that instant, even +Sarah’s frightened cries were frozen.</p> + +<p>Then the bushes parted, and some one<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_203' id='Page_203'>[Pg 203]</a></span> +sprang through. Gypsy knew the face all +blackened and marred with powder—the face +dearer to her than any on earth but her +mother’s. So she had not killed him—thank +God, thank God!</p> + +<p>“Gypsy, child!” called the dear, familiar +voice; “what ails you? You haven’t hurt me, +but why in the name of all danger on this +earth did you touch——”</p> + +<p>But Tom stopped short; for Gypsy tottered up +to him with such a white, weak look on her face, +that he thought the rebound of the gun must +have injured her, and caught her in his arms.</p> + +<p>“You’re not going to faint! Where are you +hurt?”</p> + +<p>But Gypsy was not hurt, and Gypsy never +fainted. She just put her arms about his neck +and hid her face close upon his shoulder, and +cried as if her heart would break.</p> + +<p>It was a long time before she spoke,—only +kissing him and clinging to him through her +sobs,—then, at last,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_204' id='Page_204'>[Pg 204]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>“Oh, Tom, I thought I had killed you—I +thought—and I loved you so—oh, Tom!”</p> + +<p>Tom choked a little, and sat down on the +ground, holding her in his lap.</p> + +<p>“Why, my little Gypsy!”</p> + +<p>Just then footsteps came crashing through +the underbrush, and Mr. Hallam ran hurriedly +up.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you’ve found them! Where were +they? What has happened to Gypsy?”</p> + +<p>“Let me go,” sobbed Gypsy; “I can’t talk +just now. I want to go away and cry.”</p> + +<p>She broke away from Tom’s arms, and into +the tent, where she could be alone.</p> + +<p>“What has happened?” repeated Mr. Hallam. +“We came home in less than an hour, +and couldn’t find you. We have been to +Mr. Fisher’s, and hunted everywhere. I was +calling for you in the gorge when Tom +found you.”</p> + +<p>Sarah was left to tell their story; which she +did with remarkable justness, considering how<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_205' id='Page_205'>[Pg 205]</a></span> +frightened she was. She shared with Gypsy +the blame of having left the tents, and insisted +that it was her fault that the gun went off. Before +the account was quite finished, Gypsy called +Tom from the tent-door, and he went to her.</p> + + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-019' id='illus-019'></a> +<img src='images/illus-205.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<p>She was quiet, and very pale,</p> + +<p>“Oh, Tom, I am so sorry! I didn’t think I +should be gone so long.”</p> + +<p>“It was very dangerous, Gypsy. You +might have been lost, or you might have had<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_206' id='Page_206'>[Pg 206]</a></span> +to spend the night here alone, while we were +hunting for you.”</p> + +<p>“I know it, I know it; and Sarah was so +frightened, and I was too, a little, and Sarah +thought you were a bear.”</p> + +<p>“I have told you a great many times that it +is <i>never</i> safe for you to touch my gun,” said +Tom, gravely. He felt that Gypsy’s carelessness +might have brought about too terrible +consequences, both to herself and to him, to +be passed by lightly; and he had an idea that, +as long as her mother was not there to tell her +so, he must.</p> + +<p>But Gypsy dropped her head, and looked so +humble and wretched, that he had not the +heart to say any more.</p> + +<p>Gypsy was sure all the pleasure of her camping-out +was utterly spoiled; but there was a +bright sun the next morning, and Tom was so +kind and pleasant, and the birds were singing, +and the world didn’t look at all as if she had +nearly killed her brother twelve hours before,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_207' id='Page_207'>[Pg 207]</a></span> +so she found she was laughing in spite of herself, +and two very happy days passed after +that. Mr. Hallam made a rule that he or Tom +should keep the girls constantly in sight, and +that, during the time spent in excursions which +they could not join, they should remain in Mr. +Fisher’s house. He said it was too wild a +place for them to be alone in for any length of +time, and he was sorry he left them before.</p> + +<p>Gypsy did not resent this strict tutelage. +She was very humble and obedient and careful +as long as they stayed upon the mountain. +Those few moments, when she clung sobbing +to Tom’s neck, were a lesson to her. She will +not forget them as long as she lives.</p> + +<p>At the end of the fourth day, just at supper +time, a dark cloud sailed over the sky, and a +faint wind blew from the east.</p> + +<p>“I wonder if it’s going to rain,” said Mr. +Hallam. They all looked up. Gypsy said +nothing; in her secret heart, she hoped it +would.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_208' id='Page_208'>[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>“What about sending the girls to Mrs. +Fisher’s?” asked Tom, when they were washing +the dishes.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, no, it won’t rain, I know—let us +stay, Mr. Hallam, please. Why, I should feel +like a deserter if I went off!” pleaded Gypsy.</p> + +<p>The dark cloud seemed to have passed +away, and the wind was still. After thinking +a while, Mr. Hallam decided to let them stay.</p> + +<p>In the middle of the night, Gypsy was +awakened by a great noise. The wind was +blowing a miniature hurricane through the +trees, and the rain was falling in torrents. +She could hear it spatter on the canvas roof, +and drop from the poles, and gurgle in a +stream through the ditch. She could hear, +too, the loud, angry murmur of the trout +brook and the splashing of hundreds of rivulets +that dashed down the slope and over the gorge +into it.</p> + +<p>She gave Sarah a little pinch, and woke +her up.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_209' id='Page_209'>[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, Sarah, it’s come! It’s raining like +everything, and here we are, and we can’t get +to Mr. Fisher’s—isn’t it splendid?”</p> + +<p>“Ye-es,” said Sarah; “it’s very splendid, +only isn’t it a little—wet? It’s dropping right +on my cheek.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s nothing—why, here I can put +my hand right down into a puddle of water. +It’s just like being at sea.”</p> + +<p>“I know it. Are people at sea always so—cold?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I’m not cold. Only we might as +well wear our water-proofs. The leaves <i>are</i> +a little damp.”</p> + +<p>So they put on their tweed cloaks, and +Gypsy listened to the wind, and thought it +was very poetic and romantic, and that she +was perfectly happy. And just as she had +lain down again there came a great gust of +rain, and one of the rivulets that were sweeping +down the mountain splashed in under the +canvas, and ran right through the middle of<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_210' id='Page_210'>[Pg 210]</a></span> +the tent like a brook. Sarah jumped up with +energy.</p> + +<p>“O—oh, it’s gone right over my feet!”</p> + +<p>“My shoes are sailing away, as true as you +live!” cried Gypsy, and sprang just in time to +save them.</p> + +<p>The dinner-basket and a tin pail were fast +following, when Tom appeared upon the scene, +and called through the wall of shawls,—</p> + +<p>“Girls, you’ll have to go to Mrs. Fisher’s. +Be quick as you can!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to a bit,” said Gypsy, who +was sitting in a pool of water.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m going,” announced Sarah, with +unheard-of decision. “Camping out is very +nice, but drowning is another thing.”</p> + +<p>“Well—I—suppose it <i>would</i> be a—little—dryer,” +said Gypsy, slowly.</p> + +<p>The girls were soon dressed, and Tom +lighted a lantern and went with them. A +few peals of thunder growled sullenly down +the valley, and one bright flash of lightning<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_211' id='Page_211'>[Pg 211]</a></span> +glared far through the forest. Sarah was +afraid she should be struck. Gypsy was thinking +how grand it was, and wished she could +be out in a midnight storm every week.</p> + +<p>It was after midnight, and every one at +Mr. Fisher’s was asleep; but Tom knocked +them up, and Mr. Fisher was very much +amused, and Mrs. Fisher was very kind and +hospitable, and built up a fire, and said they +should be perfectly dry and warm before they +went to bed.</p> + +<p>So the girls bade Tom good-night, and he +went back to Mr. Hallam, and they, feeling very +cold and sleepy and drenched, were glad enough +to be taken care of, and put to bed like babies, +after Mrs. Fisher’s good, motherly fashion.</p> + +<p>“Sarah,” said Gypsy, sleepily, just as Sarah +was beginning to dream. “A feather-bed, +and—and <i>pil</i>lows! (with a little jump to keep +awake long enough to finish her sentence) are +a little better—on the whole—than a mud—pud——”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_212' id='Page_212'>[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>Just there she went to sleep. The next day +it poured from morning till night. That was +just what Mr. Hallam and Tom liked, so they +fished all day, and the girls amused themselves +as best they might in Mr. Fisher’s barn. The +day after it rained in snatches, and the sun +shone in little spasms between. A council of +exigencies met in Mr. Hallam’s tent, and it +was unanimously decided to go home. Even +Gypsy began to long for civilized life, though +she declared that she had never in all her +life had such a good time as she had had that +week.</p> + +<p>So Mr. Fisher harnessed and drove them +briskly down the mountain, and “from afar +off” Gypsy saw her mother’s face, watching +for her at the door—a little anxious; very glad +to see her back.</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 400px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-020' id='illus-020'></a> +<img src='images/illus-213.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='link-3975' id='link-3975'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_213' id='Page_213'>[Pg 213]</a></span> +<h2>Chapter XI</h2><h3>GYPSY’S OPINION OF BOSTON</h3> +</div> + +<p>Just at the end of the vacation, it +was suddenly announced that Miss +Melville was not going to teach +any more.</p> + +<p>“How funny!” said Gypsy. +“Last term she expected to, just as much +as anything. I don’t see what’s the reason. +Now I shall have to go to the high school.”</p> + +<p>It chanced that they were remodelling some +of the rooms at the high school, and the winter +term, which would otherwise have commenced +in September, was delayed till the +first of October.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_214' id='Page_214'>[Pg 214]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gypsy had jumped on all the hay-cocks, +and picked all the huckleberries, and eaten +all the early Davises, and gone on all the +picnics that she could, and was just ready to +settle down contentedly to school and study; +so the news from Miss Melville was not, on +the whole, very agreeable. What to do with +herself, for another long month of vacation, +was more than she knew.</p> + +<p>She wandered about the house and sat out +among the clovers and swung on the gate, +in a vague, indefinite sort of way, for two +weeks; then one morning Mrs. Breynton read +her a letter which set her eyes on fire with +delight. It was an invitation from her aunt +to spend a fortnight in Boston. It so happened +that Gypsy had never been to Boston. +It was a long day’s journey from Yorkbury, +and Mr. Breynton was not much in favor of +expensive travelling for the children while +they were very young; arguing that the +enjoyment and usefulness would be doubled<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_215' id='Page_215'>[Pg 215]</a></span> +to them when they were older. Besides, +Gypsy’s uncle, though he was her father’s +brother, had seldom visited Yorkbury. His +business kept him closely at home, and his +wife and daughter always went to the seaside +in summer; so the two families had seen very +little of each other for years.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Breynton, however, thought it best +Gypsy should make this visit; and Gypsy, +who had lived twelve years in a State which +contained but one city, considered going to +Boston very much as she would have considered +going to Paradise.</p> + +<p>It took a few days of delightful hurry and +bustle to get ready. There was much washing +and mending and altering, sewing on of +trimmings and letting down of tucks, to be +done for her; for Mrs. Breynton desired to +spare her the discomfort of feeling “countrified,” +and Yorkbury style was not distinctively +<i>a la Paris</i>. She told Gypsy, frankly, +that she must expect to find her cousin Joy<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_216' id='Page_216'>[Pg 216]</a></span> +better dressed than herself; but that her +wardrobe should be neat and tasteful, and in +as much accordance with the prevailing mode +as was practicable; so she hoped she would +have too much self-respect to be troubled by +the difference.</p> + +<p>“I hope I have,” said Gypsy, with an emphasis.</p> + +<p>The days passed so quickly that it seemed +like a dream when she had at last bidden them +all good-by, kissed her mother just ten times, +and was fairly seated alone in the cars, holding +on very tightly to her ticket, and wondering if +the men put her trunk in. Although she was +so little used to travelling, having never been +farther than to Burlington or Vergennes in her +life, yet she was not in the least afraid to take +the journey alone. Her mother felt sure she +could take care of herself, and her father had +given her so many directions, and written such +careful memoranda for her, of changes of cars, +refreshment stations, what to do with her<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_217' id='Page_217'>[Pg 217]</a></span> +check, and how to look after her baggage, that +she felt sure she could not make a mistake. +Being a bright, observing child, fearless as a +boy, and not in the least inclined to worry, she +had no trouble at all. The conductor was +very kind; an old gentleman, who was pleased +with her twinkling eyes and red cheeks, gave +her an orange, and helped look after her baggage; +two old ladies gave her fennel and peppermints; +and before she reached Boston she +was on terms of intimacy with six babies, a +lapdog, and a canary-bird. Altogether, it had +been a most charming journey, and she was +almost sorry when they reached the city, +and the train rolled slowly into the dark +depot.</p> + +<p>The passengers were crowding rapidly out, +the lamps were lighted in the car, and she felt +a little lonely sitting still there, and waiting for +her uncle. She had not waited but a moment, +however, when a pleasant, whiskered face appeared +at the car-door, and one of those genial,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_218' id='Page_218'>[Pg 218]</a></span> +“off-hand” voices, that sound at once so kindly +and so careless, called out,—</p> + +<p>“O—ho! So here’s the girl! Glad to see +you, child. This way; the hack’s all ready.”</p> + +<p>She was hurried into a carriage, her trunk +was tossed on behind, and then the door was +shut, and they were driven rapidly away +through a maze of crooked streets, glare of +gaslights, and brilliant shop-windows, that bewildered +Gypsy. She had a notion that was +the way fairy-land must look. Her uncle +laughed, good-naturedly, at her wide-open eyes.</p> + +<p>“Boston is a somewhat bigger village than +Yorkbury, I suppose! How’s your father? +Why didn’t he come with you? Is your +mother well? And that boy—Linnie—Silly—what +do call him?”</p> + +<p>“Winnie, sir; and then there’s Tom.”</p> + +<p>“Winnie—oh, yes! Tom well, too?”</p> + +<p>Before the ride was over, Gypsy had come +to the conclusion that she liked her uncle very +much, only he had such a funny way of asking<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_219' id='Page_219'>[Pg 219]</a></span> +questions, and then forgetting all about +them.</p> + +<p>The driver reined up at a house on Beacon +Street, and Gypsy was led up a long flight of +steps through a bright hall, and into a room +that dazzled her. A bright coal-fire was +glowing in the grate, for it was a chilly evening, +and bright jets of gas were burning in +chandeliers. Bright carpets, and curtains, +furniture, pictures, and ornaments covered +the length of two parlors separated only by +folding-doors, and mirrors, that reached from +the floor to the ceiling, reflected her figure +full length, as she stood in the midst of the +magnificence, in her Yorkbury hat and homemade +casaque.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, sit down,” said her uncle; “I’ll +call your aunt. I don’t see where they are; +I told them to be on hand,—Kate, where’s +Mrs. Breynton?”</p> + +<p>“She’s up-stairs, sir, dressing,” said the +servant, who had opened the door.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_220' id='Page_220'>[Pg 220]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Tell her Miss Gypsy has come; sit down, +child, and make yourself at home.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy sat down, and Mr. Breynton, not +satisfied with sending a message to his wife, +went to the foot of the stairs, and called,—</p> + +<p>“Miranda!—Joy!”</p> + +<p>A voice from somewhere above answered, a +little sharply, that she was coming as fast as +she could, and she told Joyce to go down long +ago, but she hadn’t stirred.</p> + +<p>Gypsy heard every word, and she began +to wonder if her aunt were very glad to see +her, and what sort of a girl her cousin must +be, if she didn’t obey her mother unless she +chose to. Just then Joy came down stairs, +walking very slowly and properly, and came +into the parlor with the manners of a young +lady of eighteen. She might have been a +pretty child, if she had been dressed more +plainly and becomingly; but her face was +pale and thin, and there was a fretful look +about her mouth, that almost spoiled it.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_221' id='Page_221'>[Pg 221]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gypsy went up warmly, and kissed her. +Joy had extended the tips of her fingers to +shake hands, and she looked a little surprised, +but kissed her politely, and asked if she were +tired with the journey. Just then Mrs. Breynton +came in, with many apologies for her +delay, met Gypsy kindly enough, and sent her +up-stairs to take off her things.</p> + +<p>“Who trimmed your hat?” asked Joy, suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Miss Jones. She’s our milliner.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Joy, “mine is a pheasant. Nobody +thinks of wearing velvet now—most +everybody has a pheasant.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t like to wear just what everybody +else did,” Gypsy could not help saying. +She hung the turban up in the closet, with a +little uncomfortable feeling. It was a fine +drab straw, trimmed and bound with velvet +a shade darker. It was pretty, and she knew +it; it just matched her casaque, and her mother +had thought it all the more lady-like for its<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_222' id='Page_222'>[Pg 222]</a></span> +simplicity. Nevertheless, it was not going to +be very pleasant to have her cousin Joy +ashamed of her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, oh, how short they wear dresses in +Yorkbury!” remarked Joy, as Gypsy walked +across the room. “Mine are nearly to the +tops of my boots, now I’m thirteen years +old.”</p> + +<p>“Are they?—where did I put my bag?” +said Gypsy, carelessly. Joy looked a little +piqued that she did not seem more impressed.</p> + +<p>“There’s dinner,” she said, after a silence, +in which she had been secretly inspecting and +commenting upon every article of Gypsy’s +attire. “Come, let’s go down. Mother scolds +if we’re late.”</p> + +<p>“Scolds!” said Gypsy. “How funny! my +mother never scolds.”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t she?” asked Joy, a little wonder in +her eyes.</p> + +<p>“It seems so queer to have dinner at six +o’clock,” said Gypsy, confidentially, as they<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_223' id='Page_223'>[Pg 223]</a></span> +went down stairs. “At home they are just sitting +down to supper.”</p> + +<p>Joy laughed patronizingly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; I suppose you’re used to country +hours.”</p> + +<p>For the second time, Gypsy felt uncomfortable. +She would very much have liked to ask +her cousin what there was to be ashamed of in +being used to country hours, when you lived in +the country. But they had reached the dining-room +door, and her aunt was calling out somewhat +fretfully to Joy to hurry, so she said +nothing.</p> + +<p>After supper, her uncle said she looked very +much like her father, hoped she would make +herself at home, thought her a little taller than +Joyce, and then was lost to view, for the evening, +behind his newspaper. Her aunt inquired +if she could play on the piano, was surprised to +find she knew nothing more classical than +chants and Scotch airs; told Joy to let her hear +that last air of Von Weber’s; and then she<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_224' id='Page_224'>[Pg 224]</a></span> +took up a novel which was lying partially +read upon the table. When Joy was through +playing, she proposed a game of solitaire. +Gypsy would much rather have examined the +beautiful and costly ornaments with which the +rooms were filled, but she was a little too +polite and a little too proud to do so, unasked.</p> + +<p>“What do you play most?” she asked, as +they began to move the figures on the solitaire +board.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Joy, “I practise three hours, and +that takes all the time when I’m in school. In +vacations, I don’t know,—I like to walk in Commonwealth +Avenue pretty well; then mother +has a good deal of company, and I always +come down.”</p> + +<p>“Only go to walk, and sit still in the parlor!” +exclaimed Gypsy; “dear me!”</p> + +<p>“Why, what do you do?”</p> + +<p>“Me? Oh, I jump on the hay and run +down hills and poke about in the swamp.”</p> + +<p><i>“What?”</i><span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_225' id='Page_225'>[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Push myself round on a raft in the orchard-swamp; +it’s real fun.”</p> + +<p>“Why, I never heard of such a thing!” +said Joy, looking shocked.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s splendid; you ought to come up +to Yorkbury, and go out with me. Tom +would make you a raft.”</p> + +<p>“What <i>do</i> the people say?” said Joy, looking +at her mother.</p> + +<p>“Oh, there aren’t any people there to see. +If there were, they wouldn’t say anything. +I have just the nicest times. Winnie and I +tipped over last spring,—clear over, splash!”</p> + +<p>“You will ruin your complexion,” remarked +her aunt, laying down her novel. “I suppose +you never wear a veil.”</p> + +<p>“A veil? Dear me, no! I can’t bear the +feeling of a veil. I wore one in the cars +through, to keep the cinders off. Then, besides +that, I row and coast, and,—oh, I forgot, +walking on the fences; it’s real fun if you +don’t tumble off.”<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_226' id='Page_226'>[Pg 226]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>“Walking on the fences!”</i></p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. I always go in the fields where +there’s nobody round. Then I like to climb +the old walls, where you have to jump when +the stones roll off from under you.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Breynton elevated her eyebrows with +a peculiar expression, and returned to her novel.</p> + +<p>Gypsy was one of those happy people who +are gifted with the faculty of always having +a pleasant time, and the solitaire game was +good enough, if it hadn’t been so quiet; but +when she went up to bed, she looked somewhat +sober. She bade Joy good-night, shut +herself into the handsomely-furnished room +which had been given her, sat down on the +floor, and winked hard several times. She +would not have objected at that moment to +seeing her mother, or Tom, or pulling her +father’s whiskers, or squeezing Winnie a +little, or looking into the dear, familiar sitting-room +where they were all gathered just +then to have prayers. She began to have a<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_227' id='Page_227'>[Pg 227]</a></span> +vague idea that there was no place like home. +She also came to the conclusion, very faintly, +and feeling like a traitor all the time, that her +Aunt Miranda was very fashionable and very +fretful, and did not treat Joy at all as her +mother treated her; that Joy thought her +countrified, and had never walked on a fence +in all her life; that her uncle was very good, +but very busy, and that a fortnight was a +rather long time to stay there.</p> + +<p>However, her uncle’s house was not the +whole of Boston. All the delights of the +great, wonderful city remained unexplored, +and who could tell what undreamed-of joys +to-morrow would bring forth?</p> + +<p>So Gypsy’s smiles came back after their +usual punctual fashion, and she fell asleep as +soon as her head touched the pillow, to dream +that she was sitting in Tom’s lap, reading an +Arabic novel aloud to Winnie.</p> + +<p>It might have been about half an hour +after, that she woke suddenly with a terrible<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_228' id='Page_228'>[Pg 228]</a></span> +feeling in her lungs and throat, and sat up in +bed gasping, to see the door burst open, and +her aunt come rushing in.</p> + +<p>“Is the house on fire?” asked Gypsy, +sleepily.</p> + +<p>“House on fire! It might have been. It’s +a wonder you’re alive!”</p> + +<p>“Alive,” repeated Gypsy, bewildered.</p> + +<p>“Why, child, you blew out the gas!” said +her aunt, sharply, throwing open the windows. +“Didn’t you know any better than that?”</p> + +<p>“I’m so used to blowing out our lamps,” +said Gypsy, feeling very much frightened and +ashamed.</p> + +<p>“Country ways!” exclaimed her aunt. +“Well, thank fortune, there’s no harm done,—go +to sleep, like a good girl.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy did not relish being told to go to +sleep like a good girl, when she had done +nothing wrong; nor did her aunt’s one chilly +kiss, at leaving her, serve to make her forget +those few sharp words.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_229' id='Page_229'>[Pg 229]</a></span></p> + +<p>The next morning, after breakfast, Joy +proposed to go out to walk, and Gypsy ran +up to put on her things in great glee. One +little circumstance dashed damply on it, like +water on glowing coals.</p> + +<p>“How large your casaque is about the +neck,” said Joy, carelessly. “I like mine +small and high, with a binding.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy remembered what her mother said: +and, because her casaque happened to be cut +after Miss Jones’s patterns instead of Madame +Demorest’s, she did not feel that her character +was seriously affected; but it was not +pleasant to have such things said. Her +cousin did not mean to be unkind. On the +contrary, she had taken rather a fancy to +Gypsy. She was simply a little thoughtless +and a little vain. Joy is not the only girl in +Boston, I am afraid, who has hurt the feelings +of her country visitors in that careless +way.</p> + +<p>“You’ve never seen the Common, I suppose,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_230' id='Page_230'>[Pg 230]</a></span> +nor the Public Gardens?” said Joy, as +they started off. “We’ll walk across to Boylston +Street,—dear me! you haven’t any gloves +on!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, must I put them on?” said Gypsy, +with a sigh; “I’m afraid I sha’n’t like Boston +if I have to wear gloves week-days. I can’t +bear the feeling of them.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose that’s what makes your hands +so red and brown,” replied Joy, astonished, +casting a glance at her own sickly, white +fingers, which she was pinching into a pair of +very tight kid gloves.</p> + +<p>“Here are the Gardens,” she said, proudly, +as they entered the inclosure. “Aren’t they +beautiful? I don’t suppose you have anything +like this in Yorkbury. We’ll go up to +the Common in a minute.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy looked carelessly around, and did +not seem to be very much impressed or interested.</p> + +<p>“I’d rather go over into that street where<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_231' id='Page_231'>[Pg 231]</a></span> +the people and the carriages are,” she +said.</p> + +<p>“Why!” exclaimed Joy; “don’t you like +it? See the fountains, and the deer and the +grass, and all.”</p> + +<p>“I like the deer,” said Gypsy; “only I feel +so sorry for them.”</p> + +<p>“Sorry for them!”</p> + +<p>“Why, they look so as if they wanted to be +off in the woods with nobody round. I like +the rabbits better, jumping round at home +under the pine-trees. Then I think the trout-brook, +at Ripton, is a great deal prettier than +these fountains. But then I guess I should +like the stores,” she said, apologetically, a little +afraid she had hurt or provoked Joy.</p> + +<p>“I never saw anybody like you,” said Joy, +looking puzzled. When they came to Tremont, +and then to Washington Street, Gypsy +was in an ecstasy. She kept calling to Joy +to see that poor little beggar girl, or that +funny old woman, or that negro boy who was<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_232' id='Page_232'>[Pg 232]</a></span> +trying to stand on his head, or the handsome +feather on that lady’s bonnet, and stopped +every other minute to see some beautiful toy +or picture in a shop-window, till Joy lost all +patience.</p> + +<p>“Gypsy Breynton! don’t keep staring in the +windows so; people will think we are a couple +of servant girls just from down East, who +never saw Washington Street before!”</p> + +<p>“I never did,” said Gypsy, coolly.</p> + +<p>But she looked a little sober. What was +the use of Boston, and all its beautiful sights +and busy sounds, if you must walk right along +as if you were going to church, and not seem +to see nor hear any of the wonders, for fear of +being called countrified? Gypsy began to +hate the word.</p> + +<p>“You must take your cousin to the Aquarial +Gardens,” said Mr. Breynton to Joy, at +dinner.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m tired to death of the Aquarial +Gardens,” answered Joy; “none of the girls<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_233' id='Page_233'>[Pg 233]</a></span> +I go with ever go now, and I’ve seen it all so +many times.”</p> + +<p>“But Gypsy hasn’t. Try the Museum, +then.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t bear the Museum. The white +snakes in bottles make me so nervous,” said +Joy.</p> + +<p>“A white snake in a bottle! Why, I never +saw one,” said Gypsy, with sparkling eyes.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll go with you, child, if Joy hasn’t +the politeness to do it,” said her uncle, patting +her eager face.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Breynton,” said his wife, petulantly, +“you are <i>always</i> blaming that child for something.”</p> + +<p>Yet, in the very next breath, she scolded +Joy, for delaying her practising ten minutes, +more severely than her father would have done +if she had told a falsehood.</p> + +<p>Mr. Breynton was very busy the next day, +and forgot all about Gypsy; but the day after +he left his store at an early hour, and took<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_234' id='Page_234'>[Pg 234]</a></span> +her to the Museum, and out to Bunker Hill. +That was the happiest day Gypsy spent in +Boston.</p> + +<p>The day after her aunt had a large dinner +company. No one would have imagined that +Gypsy dreaded it in the least; but, in her +secret heart, she did. Joy seemed to be perfectly +happy when she was dressed in her +brilliant Stuart plaid silk, with its long sash +and valenciennes lace ruffles, and spent a full +half hour exhibiting her jewelry-box to Gypsy’s +wondering eyes, and trying to decide +whether she would wear her coral brooch and +ear-rings, which matched the scarlet of the +plaid, or a handsome malachite set, which +were the newer.</p> + +<p>Gypsy looked on admiringly, for she liked +pretty things as well as other girls; but dressed +herself in the simple blue-and-white checked +foulard, with blue ribbons around her net and +at her throat to match,—the best suit, over +which her mother had taken so much pains,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_235' id='Page_235'>[Pg 235]</a></span> +and which had seemed so grand in Yorkbury,—hoped +her aunt’s guests would not laugh at +her, and decided to think no more about the +matter.</p> + +<p>The first half hour of dinner passed off +pleasantly enough. Gypsy was hungry; for +she had just come home from a long walk to +Williams & Everett’s picture gallery, and the +dinner was very nice; the only trouble with +it being that, there were so many courses, +she could not decide what to eat and what to +refuse. But after a while a deaf old gentleman, +who sat next her, felt conscientiously +impelled to ask her where she lived and how +old she was, and she had to scream so loud to +answer him, that it attracted the attention of +all the guests. Then the dessert came and +the wine, and an hour and a half had passed, +and still no one showed any signs of leaving +the table, and the old gentleman made spasmodic +attempts at conversation, at intervals +of ten minutes. The hour and a half became<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_236' id='Page_236'>[Pg 236]</a></span> +two hours, and Gypsy was so thoroughly tired +out sitting still, it seemed as if she should +scream, or upset her finger-bowl, or knock +over her chair, or do some terrible thing.</p> + +<p>“You said you were twelve years old, I believe?” +said the old gentleman, suddenly. +This was the fifth time he had asked that very +same question. Joy trod on Gypsy’s toes +under the table, and Gypsy laughed, coughed, +seized her goblet, and began to drink violently +to conceal her rudeness.</p> + +<p>“Twelve years? and you live in Vermont?” +remarked the old gentleman placidly. This +was a drop too much. Gypsy swallowed her +water the wrong way, strangled and choked, +and ran out of the room with crimson face, +mortified and gasping.</p> + +<p>She knew, by a little flash of her aunt’s eyes, +that she was ashamed of her, and much displeased. +She locked herself into her own room, +feeling very miserable, and would not have gone +down stairs again if she had not been sent for,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_237' id='Page_237'>[Pg 237]</a></span> +after the company had returned to the +parlors.</p> + +<p>She did not dare to disobey, so she went, and +sat down in a corner by the piano, where she +hoped she should be out of sight.</p> + +<p>A pleasant-faced lady, sitting near, turned, +and said,—</p> + +<p>“Don’t you play, my dear?”</p> + +<p>“A little,” said Gypsy, wishing she could +have truthfully said no.</p> + +<p>“I wish you would play for me,” said the +lady.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I shouldn’t like to,” said Gypsy, +shrinking; “I don’t know anything but Scotch +airs.”</p> + +<p>“That is just what I like,” said the lady. +“Mrs. Breynton, can’t you persuade your +niece to play a little for me?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, Gypsy,” said her aunt, with a +look which plainly said, “Don’t think of it.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy’s mother had taught her that it was +both disobliging and affected to refuse to play<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_238' id='Page_238'>[Pg 238]</a></span> +when she was asked, no matter how simple her +music might be. So, not knowing how to refuse, +and wishing the floor would open and +swallow her up, she went to the piano, and +played two sweet Scotch airs. She played them +well for a girl of her age, and the lady thanked +her, and seemed to enjoy them. But that +night, just as she was going to bed, she accidentally +overheard her aunt saying to Joy,—</p> + +<p>“It was very stupid and forward in her. I +tried to make her understand, but I couldn’t—those +little songs, too! Why, with all your +practice, and such teachers as you have had, I +wouldn’t think of letting you play before anybody +at your age.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy cried herself to sleep that night.</p> + +<p>Just a week from the day that she came to +Boston, Gypsy and Joy were out shopping in +Summer Street. They had just come out of +Hovey’s, when they met a ragged child, not +more than three years old, crying as if its +heart were broken.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_239' id='Page_239'>[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, dear!” cried Gypsy; “see that poor +little girl! I’m going to see what’s the matter.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t!” said Joy, horrified; “come along! +Nobody stops to speak to beggars in Boston; +what <i>are</i> you doing?”</p> + +<p>For Gypsy had stopped and taken the child’s +two dirty little fists down from her eyes, and +looked down into the tear-stained and mud-stained +face to see what was the matter.</p> + +<p>“I—I don’t know where nobody is,” sobbed +the child.</p> + +<p>“Have you lost your way? Where do you +live?” asked Gypsy, with great, pitying eyes. +Gypsy could never bear to see anybody cry; +and then the little creature was so ragged and +thin.</p> + +<p>“I live there,” said the child, pointing +vaguely down the street. “Mother’s to home +there somewhars.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go with you and find your mother,” +said Gypsy; and taking the child’s hand, she<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_240' id='Page_240'>[Pg 240]</a></span> +started off in her usual impulsive fashion, without +a thought beyond her pity.</p> + +<p>“Gypsy! Gypsy Breynton!” called Joy. +“The police will take her home—you mustn’t!”</p> + +<p>But Gypsy did not hear, and Joy, shocked +and indignant, went home and left her.</p> + +<p>In about an hour Gypsy came back, flushed +and panting with her haste. Joy, in speechless +amazement, had looked from the window +and seen her <i>running</i> across the Common.</p> + +<p>Her aunt met her on the stairs with a face +like a thunder-cloud.</p> + +<p>“Why, Gypsy Breynton, I am ashamed of +you! How <i>could</i> you do such a thing as to +go off with a beggar, and <i>take hold of her +hand</i> right there in Summer Street, and go +nobody knows where, alone, into those terrible +Irish streets! It was a <i>dreadful</i> thing to +do, and I should think you would have known +better, and I really think I must write to your +mother about it immediately!”</p> + +<p>Gypsy stood for a moment, motionless with<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_241' id='Page_241'>[Pg 241]</a></span> +astonishment. Then, without saying a word, +she passed her aunt quickly on the stairs, and +ran up to her room. Her face was very white. +If she had been at home she would have +broken forth in a torrent of angry words.</p> + +<p>Kate, the house-maid, was sweeping the +entry.</p> + +<p>“Did you know there was going to be +another great dinner to-day, miss?” she said, +as Gypsy passed her.</p> + +<p>Gypsy went into her room, and locked her +door. Another of those terrible dinner-companies, +and her aunt so angry at her! It was +too much—she could not bear it! She looked +about the room twice, passed her hand over +her forehead, and her face flushed quickly.</p> + +<p>One of Gypsy’s sudden and often perilous +resolutions was made.</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 434px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-021' id='illus-021'></a> +<img src='images/illus-242.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='link-5165' id='link-5165'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_242' id='Page_242'>[Pg 242]</a></span> +<h2>Chapter XII</h2><h3>NO PLACE LIKE HOME</h3> +</div> + +<p>No one came to the room. After a while +the front door opened and shut, and +she saw, from the window, that her aunt and +Joy were going out. She then remembered +that she had heard them say they had some +calls to make at that hour. Her uncle was +at the store, and no one was now in the house +besides herself, but the servants.</p> + +<p>“All right,” she said, half aloud; “I couldn’t +have fixed it better.”</p> + +<p>For half an hour she stayed in her room with<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_243' id='Page_243'>[Pg 243]</a></span> +the door locked, and any one listening outside +could have heard her moving briskly about, +opening drawers and shutting closet doors. +Then she came down stairs and went out. She +was gone just about long enough to have been +to the nearest hack-stand and back again. A +few minutes after she returned, the door-bell +rang.</p> + +<p>“I’ll go,” she called to Kate; “it’s a man I +sent here on an errand, and I shall have to see +him.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, miss,” said Kate, and went singing +down the back-stairs with her broom.</p> + +<p>“This way,” said Gypsy, opening the door. +She led the way to her room, and the man who +followed her shouldered her trunk with one +hand, and carried it out to a carriage which +stood at the door. Gypsy went into her aunt’s +room and left a little note on the table where +it would be easily seen, threw her veil over +her face, felt of her purse to be sure it was +safe in her pocket, and ran hastily down stairs<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_244' id='Page_244'>[Pg 244]</a></span> +after him, and into the carriage. The man +strapped on her trunk, slammed the door upon +her, and, mounting his box, drove rapidly +away. Kate, who happened to be looking +out of one of the basement windows, saw the +carriage, but did not notice the trunk. She +supposed Gypsy was riding somewhere to +meet her aunt or uncle, and went on with +her dusting.</p> + +<p>The carriage stopped at the Fitchburg depot, +and Gypsy paid her fare and went into +the ladies’ room. The coachman, who seemed +to be an accommodating man, though a little +curious, brought her a check, and hoped she’d +get along comfortable; it was a pretty long +journey for such a young creetur to take +alone.</p> + +<p>Gypsy thanked him, and going up to the +ticket-master, asked him something in a low +tone.</p> + +<p>“In just an hour!” said the ticket-master, +in a loud, business-like voice.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_245' id='Page_245'>[Pg 245]</a></span></p> + +<p>“<i>An hour!</i> So long as that?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma‘am.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy drew her veil very closely about her +face, and sat down in the darkest corner she +could find. She seemed to be very much +afraid of being recognized; for she shrank +from every new-comer, and started every time +the door opened.</p> + +<p>“Train for Fitchburg, Rutland, Burlington!” +shouted a voice, at last, and the words +were drowned in the noise of hurrying feet.</p> + +<p>Gypsy took a seat in the rear car, by the +door, which was open, so that she was partially +concealed from the view of the passengers. +Just before the train started, a tall, +whiskered gentleman walked slowly through +the car, scanning the faces on each side of +him.</p> + +<p>“You haven’t seen a little girl here, dressed +in drab, with black eyes and red cheeks, have +you?” he asked, stopping just in front of +Gypsy.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_246' id='Page_246'>[Pg 246]</a></span></p> + +<p>Several of the passengers shook their heads, +and one old lady piped out on a very high +key,—</p> + +<p>“No, sir, I hain’t!”</p> + +<p>The gentleman passed out, and shut the +door. Gypsy held her breath. It was her +uncle.</p> + +<p>He looked troubled and anxious. Gypsy’s +cheeks flushed,—a sudden impulse came over +her to call him back,—she started and threw +open the window, but the engine-bell rang, the +train puffed slowly off, and her uncle disappeared +in the crowd.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-022' id='illus-022'></a> +<img src='images/illus-267.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<p>As she was whirled rapidly along through<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_247' id='Page_247'>[Pg 247]</a></span> +wharves and shipping and lumber, away from +the roar of the city, and out where woods +and green fields lined the way, she began, for +the first time, to think what she was doing, +and to wonder if she were doing right. Her +anger at her aunt, and the utter disappointment +and homesickness of her Boston visit, +had swept away, for a few moments, all her +power of reasoning. To get home, to see +her mother,—to hide her head on her shoulder +and cry,—this was the one thought that +had turned itself over and over in her mind, +on that quick ride from Beacon Street, and<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_248' id='Page_248'>[Pg 248]</a></span> +in that hour spent in the dark corner of the +depot. Here she was, running like a thief +from her uncle’s house, without a word of +good-by or thanks for his hospitality, with +no message to tell him where she had gone +but that note, hastily written in the first flush +of her hurt and angry feelings. And the +hurrying train was whirling her over hill and +valley faster and farther. To go back was +impossible, go on she must. What had she +done?</p> + +<p>She began now, too, to wonder where she +should spend the night. The train went only +as far as Rutland, and it would be late and dark +when she reached the town—far too late for a +little girl to be travelling alone, and to spend a +night in a strange hotel, in a strange place. +What should she do?</p> + +<p>As the afternoon passed, and the twilight +fell, and the lamps were lighted, and people +hurried out at way-stations to safe and waiting +homes, her loneliness and anxiety increased.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_249' id='Page_249'>[Pg 249]</a></span> +Just before entering Rutland, a young man, +dressed in a dandyish manner, and partially +intoxicated, entered the car, and took the +empty seat by Gypsy. She did not like his +looks, and moved away slightly, turning to look +out of the window.</p> + +<p>“No offense, I hope?” said the man, with a +foolish smile; “the car was full.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy made no reply.</p> + +<p>“Travelling far?” he said, a moment after.</p> + +<p>“To Rutland, sir,” said Gypsy, feeling very +uneasy, as she perceived the odor of rum, and +wishing he would not talk to her.</p> + +<p>“Friends there?” said the man again.</p> + +<p>“N—no, sir,” said Gypsy, reluctantly. “I +am going to the hotel.”</p> + +<p>“Stranger in town? What hotel do you +go to?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said Gypsy, hurriedly. +The car was just stopping, and she rose and +tried to pass him.</p> + +<p>“I will show you the way,” he said, standing<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_250' id='Page_250'>[Pg 250]</a></span> +up, and reeling slightly as he tried to +walk. Gypsy, in despair, looked for the conductor. +He was nowhere to be seen. The +crowd passed out, quite careless of the frightened +child, or regarding her only with a curious +stare.</p> + +<p>“It’s only a little way,” said the man, with +an oath.</p> + +<p>“Why, sakes a massy, if this ain’t Gypsy +Breynton!”</p> + +<p>Gypsy turned, with a cry of joy, at hearing +her name, and fairly sprang into Mrs. Surly’s +arms.</p> + +<p>“Why, where on airth did you come from, +Gypsy Breynton?”</p> + +<p>“I came from Boston, and that man is +drunk, and,—oh, dear! I’m so glad to see +you, and I’ve got to go to a hotel, and I didn’t +know what mother would say, and where +did you come from?” said Gypsy, talking +very fast.</p> + +<p>“I come from my sister Lucindy’s, down to<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_251' id='Page_251'>[Pg 251]</a></span> +Bellows Falls, and I’m going to Cousin Mary +Ann Jacobs to spend the night.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Gypsy, wistfully.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how a little gal like you ever +come to be on a night train alone,” said +Mrs. Surly, with a keen, curious look at +Gypsy’s face; “but I know your ma’d never +let you go to a hotel this time o’ night, and +Mary Ann she’d be delighted to see you; so +you’d better come along.”</p> + +<p>Gypsy was so happy and so thankful, she +could fairly have kissed her,—even her, Mrs. +Surly. Cousin Mary Ann received her hospitably, +and the evening and the night passed +quickly away. Mrs. Surly was very curious, +and somewhat suspicious on the subject of +Gypsy’s return to Yorkbury, under such +peculiar circumstances. Gypsy said that she +left Boston quite suddenly, that they were not +expecting her at home, and that she took so +late a train for several reasons, but had not +thought that it went no further than Rutland,<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_252' id='Page_252'>[Pg 252]</a></span> +till she was fairly started; which was true. +More than this, Mrs. Surly could not cross-question +out of her, and she soon gave up +trying.</p> + +<p>Cousin Mary Ann wanted Mrs. Surly’s company +another day; so Gypsy took an early train +for Yorkbury alone.</p> + +<p>Gypsy never took any trouble very deeply to +heart, and the morning sunlight, and the sight +of the dear, familiar mountains, drove away, +to a great extent, the repentant and anxious +thoughts of the night.</p> + +<p>As the train shrieked into Yorkbury, she +forgot everything but that she was at home,—miles +away from Boston, her mother near, +and Tom, and the dear old days of paddling +about on rafts, and having no dinner-parties to +disgrace herself at, and no aunt to be afraid +of.</p> + +<p>It seemed as if every one she knew were at +the station. Mr. Surly was there, under +strict orders from his wife, to watch for her<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_253' id='Page_253'>[Pg 253]</a></span> +every train till she came; and Mr. Fisher +was there, just down on an errand from the +mountains; and Mrs. Rowe and Sarah were +walking up the street; and Agnes Gaylord +was over at the grocer’s, nodding and smiling +as Gypsy stepped upon the platform; and +there, too, was Mr. Simms, who had been +somewhere in the cars, and who stepped into +the coach just after she did.</p> + +<p>“Why, Miss Gypsy!—why, really! You +home again, my dear? Why, your father +didn’t expect you!”</p> + +<p>“I know it,” said Gypsy. “Are they all +well?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, yes, all well,—but to give them +such a surprise! It is so exactly like you, my +dear.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t like Boston,” said Gypsy, coloring. +“I had a horrid time, and I came home very +suddenly.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t like Boston? Well, you <i>are</i> a +remarkable young lady!” exclaimed Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_254' id='Page_254'>[Pg 254]</a></span> +Simms, and relapsed into silence, watching +Gypsy’s flushed and eager face, as people +watch a light coming back into a dark room.</p> + +<p>“We have missed you up at the store, my +dear,” he said, after a while.</p> + +<p>“Have you? I’m glad. Oh! who’s that +with Miss Melville out walking under the +elm-trees?”</p> + +<p>“I guess it’s Mr. Hallam.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, to be sure,” interrupted Gypsy, looking +very bright. “I see,—Mr. Guy Hallam. +Now I guess I know why she wouldn’t teach +school!”</p> + +<p>“They are to be married in the spring,” +said Mr. Simms.</p> + +<p>“Just think!” said Gypsy. “How funny! +Now she’ll have to stay at home and keep +house all day,—I think she’s real silly, don’t +you?”</p> + +<p>Of all the many remarkable things that Miss +Gypsy had ever said, Mr. Simms thought this +capped the climax.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_255' id='Page_255'>[Pg 255]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now the coach had rattled up the hill, and +lumbered round the corner, and there was +the old house, looking quiet and pleasant and +dear, in the morning sunlight. Gypsy was +so excited that she could not sit still, and +kept Mr. Simms in a fever of anxiety, for fear +she would tumble out of the coach windows. +It seemed to her as if she had been gone a +year, instead of just one week.</p> + +<p>She sprang down the carriage-steps at a +bound, and ran into the house. Her mother +was out in the kitchen helping Patty about +the dinner. She heard such a singing and +shouting as no one had made in the house +since Gypsy went away, and hurried out into +the front entry to see what had happened. +Tom ran in from the garden, and Winnie slid +down on the banisters, and Mr. Breynton +was just coming up the yard, and Patty put +her head in at the entry door, wiping her +hands on her apron, and everybody must be +kissed all round, and for a few minutes there<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_256' id='Page_256'>[Pg 256]</a></span> +was such a bustle, that Gypsy could hardly +hear herself speak.</p> + +<p>“What has brought you home so soon?” +asked her mother, then. “We didn’t look for +you for a week yet.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I hate Boston!” cried Gypsy, pulling +off her things. “I didn’t like anything but +the Museum and Bunker Hill; and Joy wore +silk dresses, and wouldn’t let me look in the +shop-windows, ’n I took a poor, little beggar-girl +home, and you can’t run round any, and +Aunt Miranda told me she’d tell you, and I +hate it, and she’s just as cross as a bear!”</p> + +<p>“Your aunt cross!” said her mother, who +could make neither beginning nor end of Gypsy’s +excited story.</p> + +<p>“I guess she is,” said Gypsy, with an emphasis. +“Oh, I <i>am</i> so glad to get home. +Where’s the kitty, and how’s Peace Maythorne +and everybody, and Winnie has a new jacket, +hasn’t he?”</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Breynton exchanged glances.<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_257' id='Page_257'>[Pg 257]</a></span> +They saw that something was wrong; but +wisely considered that that time was not the +one for making any inquiries into the matter. +Mrs. Breynton thought, also, that if Gypsy +had been guilty of ill-temper or rudeness, she +would confess it herself. She was right; for +as soon as dinner was over, Gypsy called her +away alone, and told her all the story. They +were shut up together a long time, and +when Gypsy came out her eyes were red with +crying.</p> + +<p>All that Mrs. Breynton said does not matter +here; but Gypsy is not likely soon to forget it. +A few words spoken, just as the conversation +ended, became golden mottoes that helped her +over many rough places in her life.</p> + +<p>“It is all the old trouble, Gypsy,—you +‘didn’t think.’ A little self-control, a moment’s +quiet thought, would have saved all +this.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know it!” sobbed Gypsy. “That’s +what always ails me. I’m always doing<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_258' id='Page_258'>[Pg 258]</a></span> +things, and always sorry for them. I mean to +do right, and I cannot remember. What shall +I do with myself, mother?”</p> + +<p>“Gypsy,” said her mother, very soberly, +“this will never do. You <i>can</i> think. And +Gypsy, my child, in every one of these little +thoughtless words and acts God sees a <i>sin</i>.”</p> + +<p>“A sin when you didn’t think?” exclaimed +Gypsy.</p> + +<p>“You must learn to think, Gypsy; and He +will teach you.”</p> + +<p>Her mother kissed her many times, and +Gypsy clung to her neck, and was very still. +Whatever thoughts she had just then, she +never told them to any one.</p> + +<p>The afternoon passed away like a merry +dream. Gypsy was so happy that she had had +the talk with her mother; so glad to be kissed +and forgiven and loved and helped; to find +every one so pleased to see her back, and home +so dear, and the mountains so blue and beautiful, +and the sunlight so bright, that she<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_259' id='Page_259'>[Pg 259]</a></span> +scarcely knew whether she were asleep or +awake. She must hunt up the kitten, and feed +the chickens, and take a peep at the cow, and +stroke old Billy in his stall; she must see how +many sweet peas were left on the vines, and +climb out on the shed-roof that had been +freshly shingled since she was gone, and run +down to the Kleiner Berg, and over to see +Sarah Rowe. She must know just what Tom +had been doing this interminable week, just +how many buttons Winnie had lost off from +his jacket, and what kind of pies Patty had +baked for dinner. She must kiss her mother +twenty times an hour, and pull her father’s +whiskers, and ride Winnie on her shoulder. +Best of all, perhaps, it was to run down to +Peace Maythorne’s, and find the sunlight golden +in the quiet room, and the pale face smiling +on the pillow; to hear the gentle voice, when +the door opened, say, “Oh, Gypsy!” in such +a way,—as no other voice ever said it; and +then to sit down and lay her head upon the<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_260' id='Page_260'>[Pg 260]</a></span> +pillow by Peace, and tell her all that had +happened.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Peace, smiling, “I think you +have learned a good deal for one week, and I +guess you will never <i>un</i>learn it.”</p> + +<p>“I guess you’ll be very sorry you went to +Bosting,” remarked Winnie, in an oracular +manner, that night, when they were all together +in their old places in the sitting-room. +“The Meddlesome Quinine Club had a concert +here last Wednesday, and we had preserved +seats. What do you think of that?”</p> + +<p>This is a copy of the letter that found its way +to Beacon Street a few days after:—</p> + +<p>“<span class='smcap'>My dear Uncle and Aunt Miranda</span>:</p> + +<p>“I am so sorry I don’t know what to do. I +was so tired sitting still, and going to dinner-parties, +and then auntie was displeased about +the beggar-girl (I took her home, and her +mother was just as glad as she could be, and +so poor!) and so I felt angry and homesick, and<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_261' id='Page_261'>[Pg 261]</a></span> +I know I oughtn’t to have gone to such a place +without asking; but I didn’t think; and then I +came home in the afternoon train, but I didn’t +think when I did that either. Mother says that +was no excuse, and I know it was very wicked +in me to do such a thing. Mrs. Surly met me in +the cars at Rutland, and took me to spend the +night with her cousin, Mrs. Mary Ann Jacobs; +so I got along safely, and nothing happened to +me, but one drunken man that kept talking.</p> + +<p>“Mother says I have done a <i>very</i> rude and +unkind thing, to leave you all so, when you +had invited me there, and been so good to me. +I know it. I had a real nice time when I went +to see Bunker Hill and the Museum with +uncle; and, of course, it was my own fault +that I didn’t like to wear gloves, and choked +so at dinner.</p> + +<p>“Mother says you will never want to see +me there again; and I shouldn’t think you +would. Seems to me I never did such a thing +in all my life, and you haven’t any idea how<span class='pagenum'><a name='Page_262' id='Page_262'>[Pg 262]</a></span> +badly I feel about it. But I know that doesn’t +help it any.</p> + +<p>“I’ve made up my mind never to do anything +again till I’ve thought it all over as +many as twelve times. Mother says two or +three would do, but I think twelve would be +safer.</p> + +<p>“I wish you’d let Joy come up here. I’d +take her boating and riding, and up to Ripton, +and down to the swamp, and everything, and +try to make up.</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose you will ever care anything +more about me; but I wish you’d please +to excuse me and forgive me.</p> + +<p style='margin-left: 70%;'>“Your affectionate niece,<br /> +”<span class='smcap'>Gypsy.</span></p> + +<p>“P. S.—Winnie’s cat has the <i>cun</i>ningest +little set of kittens you ever saw. They’re +all blind, and they have such funny paws.”</p> + + + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 400px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name='illus-023' id='illus-023'></a> +<img src='images/illus-end.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<hr class='full' /> + +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber’s Notes</h3> +<p>1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards.</p> +<p>2. Frontispiece relocated to after title page.</p> +<p>3. Typographic errors corrected in original:<br/> + p. 48 an to on (“Winnie jumped on board”)<br/> + p. 58 mits to mitts (“pair of black mitts”)<br/> + p. 119 friend’ to friend’s (“in her friend’s eyes”)</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Gypsy Breynton, by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GYPSY BREYNTON *** + +***** This file should be named 18582-h.htm or 18582-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/5/8/18582/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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