United States or Trinidad and Tobago ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
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. "Peace Maythorne says," said Gypsy, "that if Mrs. Littlejohn went to heaven, she will be so happy to find she doesn't scold! Isn't it funny, in Peace, to think of such things?" Do you remember Mr.
"And I will if Joy will," said Gypsy, "so it's a bargain." "Do you have a great deal of pain?" asked Joy, as they rose to go, with real sympathy in her puzzled eyes. "Oh, yes; but then I get along." "Peace Maythorne!" put in Gypsy just then, "is that all the dinner you ate?"
Just then the door opened and Miss Jane Maythorne, Peace's aunt, came in. She was a tall, thin, sallow-faced woman, with angular shoulders and a sharp chin.
They were alone together in the quiet room—Peace Maythorne and Joy. The thick yellow sunlight fell in, touching the old places,—the wall where Gypsy's blue and golden text was hanging,—a little patch of the faded carpet, the bed, and the folded hands upon it, and the peaceful face. Joy had crept up somewhat timidly into Gypsy's place close by the pillow.
"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.
"Worsted are very expensive now," said her mother; "you alone cannot give Peace enough to amount to much." "I don't care," said Gypsy, resolutely, "I want to do one thing Joy doesn't." Mrs. Breynton said nothing, and Gypsy went slowly from the room. "I wish we could give Peace Maythorne something," said Joy, an hour after, when they were all sitting together. Mrs.
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. It was closed, and Gypsy knocked. "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.
One or the other—and in the twinkling of an eye the change is made, from angel to fiend, from fiend to angel; just which you choose. Joy broke away from her cousin in a passion. Gypsy flew into the door of the miserable house, up the stairs two steps at a time, to the door of a low room in the second story, and rushed in without knocking. "Oh, Peace Maythorne!"
"Do I ever have an idea that isn't sensible?" said Gypsy, demurely. "I prefer not to be slandered, if you please, Mrs. Breynton." "Well, but what's the idea?" "It's just this. Miss Jane Maythorne is a heathen." "Is that all?" "No. But Miss Jane Maythorne is a heathen, and ought to cut off her head before she lets Peace sew. But you see she doesn't know she's a heathen, and Peace will sew."
"Who's Peace Maythorne?" asked Joy, sulkily. "Well, she's the person I love just about best of anybody." "Best of anybody!" "Oh, mother, of course, and Tom, and Winnie, and father, and all those. Relations don't count. But I do love her as well as anybody but mother—and Tom, and—well, anyway, I love her dreadfully." "What is she, a woman, or a girl, or what?" "She's an angel," said Gypsy.
Word Of The Day