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Updated: July 18, 2025
"Yes, sir," said Gypsy, without the least idea what he was talking about. "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 " "Oh, I know that too!" "What?" "Cowards." "Exactly."
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.
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. It took a few days of delightful hurry and bustle to get ready.
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. "Who trimmed your hat?" asked Joy, suddenly. "Miss Jones. She's our milliner."
"Miss Gypsy, my dear!" But on ran Gypsy without so much as giving him a look, across the road in front of a carriage, around a load of hay, and away like a bird down the street. Out ran Gypsy's pet aversion, Mrs. Surly, from a shop-door somewhere— "Gypsy Breynton, what a sight you be! I believe you've gone clear crazy—Gypsy!" "Can't stop!" shouted Gypsy, "it's a fire or something somewhere."
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.
It was very dark now, and very cold; the crisp frost glistened on the grass, and an ugly-looking red moon peered over the mountain. It seemed to Gypsy like a great, glaring eye, that was singling her out and following her, and asking, "Where are Joy and Winnie?" over and over. "Gypsy Breynton, Gypsy Breynton, where are Joy and Winnie?" She turned around with her back to it, so as not to see it.
Hallam and everybody are willing, may I go?" "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." "Oh, mother, mother Breynton! There never was such a dear little woman in this world!" "Why, my dear!" said Mr.
Breynton, a while after supper, when Winnie had gone to bed, and Tom and his father were casting accounts by the fire, "I want to see you a few minutes." Gypsy, wondering, followed her into the parlor. Mrs. Breynton shut the door, and they sat down together on the sofa. "I want to have a talk with you, Gypsy, about something that we'd better talk over alone."
Breynton raised her eyes from her work, but Gypsy was looking out of the window. When the girls went up to bed, Gypsy was very silent. Joy tried to laugh and plague and scold her into talking, but it was of no use. Just before they went to sleep, she spoke up suddenly: "Joy, do you want to give something to Peace Maythorne?" "Splendid!" cried Joy, jumping up in bed to clap her hands, "what?"
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