CHAPTER II

A SPASM OF ORDER


"I can't help it," said Gypsy, after supper; "I can't possibly help it,
and it's no use for me to try."

"If you cannot help it," replied Mrs. Breynton, quietly, "then it is no
fault of yours, but in every way a suitable and praiseworthy condition of
things that you should keep your room looking as I would be ashamed to
have a servant's room look, in my house. People are never to blame for
what they can't help."

"Oh, there it is again!" said Gypsy, with the least bit of a blush, "you
always stop me right off with that, on every subject, from saying my
prayers down to threading a needle."

"Your mother was trained in the new-school theology, and she applies her
principles to things terrestrial as well as things celestial," observed
her father, with an amused smile.

"Yes, sir," said Gypsy, without the least idea what he was talking about.

"Besides," added Mrs. Breynton, finishing, as she spoke, the long darn in
Gypsy's dress, "I think people who give right up at little difficulties,