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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 to them when they were older. Besides, Gypsy's uncle, though he was her father's brother, had seldom visited Yorkbury.

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 pretty, and she knew it; it just matched her casaque, and her mother had thought it all the more lady-like for its simplicity. Nevertheless, it was not going to be very pleasant to have her cousin Joy ashamed of her. "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."

This was her first Saturday afternoon in Yorkbury, and she was, no doubt, feeling lonely and homesick, and it made her none the happier to be laughed at for not doing something she had not the slightest idea how to do. Was it quite generous to let her start off alone, over a strange road, with the care of a crying——"

Now it came about that Gypsy, as usual, was the first ready to "make up," and she turned over plan after plan in her mind, to find something pleasant she could do for Joy. At last, as the greatest treat she could think of to offer her, she said: "I'll tell you what! Let's go down to Peace Maythorne's. I do believe I haven't taken you there since you've been in Yorkbury."

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.

Surly's company another day; so Gypsy took an early train for Yorkbury alone. 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.

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.

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 at the end of the summer term.

Yorkbury was pretty well used to Gypsy, but everybody stopped and stared at her that morning; what with her burning cheeks, and those rubbers sticking out of her pocket, and the hat-strings flying, and the brambles catching her dress, and the mud splashing up under her swift feet, it was no wonder. "Miss Gypsy!" called old Mr. Simms, the clerk, as she flew by the door of her father's book-store.