left it and precisely as she wanted it.

Tom passed through the room and out of the door; then he stopped. Gypsy's
eyes began to twinkle as if somebody had dropped two little diamonds in
them.

"I say," said Tom.

"What do you say?" replied Gypsy.

"What do you suppose mother would have to say to you about this _looking_
room?"

"I don't know what she'd say to you, I'm sure," said Gypsy, gravely.

"And you, a great girl, twelve years old!"

"I should like to know why I'm a railroad, anyway," said Gypsy.

"Who said you were a railroad?"

"Whoever wrote Gypsy Breynton, R. R., with my red ink."

"That doesn't stand for railroad."

"Doesn't? Well, what?"

"Regular Romp."

"Oh!"