top of his lungs. Added to this is the fact that, for some unaccountable
reason, Winnie's eyes were so blue, and Winnie's laugh so funny, and
Winnie's hands were so pink and little, that somehow or other Winnie
didn't get half the scoldings he deserved. But who is there of us that
does, for that matter?

Well, Winnie it was who stamped across the hall, and crawled up-stairs
hand over hand, and stamped across the upper entry, and pounded on Gypsy's
door, and burst it open, and slammed in with one of Winnie's inimitable
shouts.

"Oh _Win_nie!"

"I say, father wants to know if----"

"Just _see_ what you've done!"

Winnie stopped short, in considerable astonishment. Gypsy was sitting on
the floor beside one of her bureau drawers which she had pulled out of its
place. That drawer was a sight well worth seeing, by the way; but of that
presently. Gypsy had taken out of it a little box (without a cover, like
all Gypsy's boxes) filled with beadwork,--collars, cuffs, nets, and
bracelets, all tumbled in together, and as much as a handful of loose
beads of every size, color, and description, thrown down on the bottom.
Gypsy was sorting these beads, and this was what had kept her so still.
Now Winnie, in slamming into the room after his usual style, had stepped
directly into the box, crushed its pasteboard flat, and scattered the
unlucky beads to all four points of the compass.

Gypsy sat for about half a minute watching the stream of crimson and blue