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Updated: July 18, 2025
"Your aunt cross!" said her mother, who could make neither beginning nor end of Gypsy's excited story. "I guess she is," said Gypsy, with an emphasis. "Oh, I am 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?" Mr. and Mrs. Breynton exchanged glances.
And who was that with white, set face, and outstretched hands, springing over the smoking logs, leaping down into the ravine? "Oh, Tom, Tom! Oh, father, here we are!" "To go to Washington?" "Go to Washington!" "Did you ever?" "Never!" "See the President." "And the White House and the soldiers." "And the donkeys and all." "I know it." "Father Breynton, if you're not just magnificent!"
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." "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." Mrs. Rowe was willing if Mrs. Breynton were willing; Mr.
"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." "Who is Peace Maythorne?" asked Gypsy, wondering. "Is she poor?" "Yes." "How funny to send her a 'Harper's," said Gypsy. "Why don't you give her some money, or something?" "Some things are worth more than money to some people," said Mrs. Breynton, smiling.
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.
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.
"I should think we might, I'm sure," said Joy pausing, with a crisp bit of halibut on her fork, just midway between her plate and her lips. "You needn't shake your head so, Mother Breynton," said Gypsy, her great brown eyes pleading over her teacup with their very most irresistible twinkle.
Of course, the brimstone falls down from hell, and they pick it up and put it on the matches!" "What made you ask the question?" said Mrs. Breynton, when the laugh had subsided. "Oh, I was only thinking, I guessed Peace Maythorne's name was made in heaven. It so exactly suits her." After that, the cripple's little quiet room became one of the places Gypsy loved best in Yorkbury.
Breynton had fought against conviction as long as he could, had clung to all possibilities and impossibilities of doubt, but even he had given up all hope. Dead—dead, without a sign; without one last word to the child waiting for him across the seas; without one last kiss or blessing; dead by ruffian hands, lying now in an unknown, lonely grave. It seemed to Joy as if her heart must break.
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. "Well, did you find her?" "Oh, yes."
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