"Surely," broke in Aunt Agatha with strained dignity, "you're not going
in for waxworks like Mrs. Jarley!"

"Dear, no!" laughed Diane, with a sparkle of amusement in her eyes.
"There are so many wild flowers and birds and legends to study I
shouldn't have time!"

"Great heavens," murmured Aunt Agatha faintly, "my ears have gone queer
like mother's."

"And maybe I'll not be back for a year," offered Diane calmly. "I can
work south through the winter--"

Aunt Agatha fell tragically back in her chair and gasped.

"Didn't we take a whole year to motor over Europe?" demanded Diane
impetuously. "And that was nothing like so fascinating as my gypsy
house on wheels."

"If I could only have looked ahead!" breathed Aunt Agatha, shuddering.
"If only I could have foreseen what notions you and Carl were fated to
take in your heads, I'd have refused your grandfather's legacy. I
would indeed. Here I no more than get Carl safely home from hunting
Esquimaux or whatever it was up there by the North Pole--walravens,
wasn't it, Diane?--well, walrus then!--than you decide to become a
gypsy and sleep by a lake in springtime under a planting moon and stay
outdoors all winter, collecting birds, when I fancied you were safely
launched in society until you were married."