corner of his mouth.

"Neither do I," said Gypsy, demurely; "I wish I did."

"You won't learn to apply yourself to anything," persisted Tom. "Work or
play, there's no system to you. You're like a----" Tom paused for a
simile--"Well, like a toad that's always on the jump."

"Ow!" said Gypsy, with a little scream, "there's a horrid old snail
crawled out my moss!" and over went moss, flowers, basket, and all, down
the roof and upon the stone steps below. "There! Good enough for it!"

Tom coughed and whittled. Gypsy pulled her net out of her basket, and put
up her hair. There was a little silence. Nothing had yet been said about
the image in Gypsy's room, and both were determined not to be the first to
speak of it. Gypsy could have patience enough where a joke was in
question, and as is very apt to be the case, the boy found himself
outwitted. For not a word said Gypsy of the matter, and half an hour
passed and the supper-bell rang.

"There!" said Gypsy, jumping up, "I do declare if it isn't supper, and
I've got these burs to get off and my dress to mend and my shoes and
stockings to change, and--Oh, dear! I wish people didn't ever have to do
things, anyway!"

With this very wise remark, she walked back across the ridge-pole and
climbed in the window. There was nothing for Tom to do but follow; which
he did slowly and reluctantly. Something would have to be said now, at any
rate. But not a syllable said Gypsy. She went to the looking-glass, and
began to brush her hair as unconcernedly as if everything were just as she