"_Besides_," resumed Winnie, with an impressive cough; "you're late to
school, 'cause mother, she said you was to come right up when she sent me
down, only I--well I guess, I b'lieve I forgot to tell you,--I rather
think I did. Anyways, you're late,--_so_!"

Gypsy looked at Winnie, and Winnie looked at Gypsy. There was an awful
silence.

"Winnie Breynton," said Gypsy, solemnly, "if you don't get one whipping!"

"I don't care to hear folks talk," interrupted Winnie, with dignity, "I am
five years old."

Gypsy's reply is not recorded.

I have heard it said that when Tom espied the two children coming up the
lane, he went to his mother with the information that the fishman was
somewhere around, only he had sent his fishes on ahead of him. They
appeared to have been freshly caught, and would, he thought, make several
dinners; but I cannot take the responsibility of the statement.

It was very late, much nearer ten o'clock than nine, when Gypsy was fairly
metamorphosed into a clean, dry, very penitent-looking child.

She hurried off to school, leaving Winnie and his mother in close
conference. Exactly what happened on the occasion of that interview, has
never been made known to an inquiring public.

On the way to school Gypsy had as many as six sober thoughts; a larger
number than she was usually capable of in forty-eight hours. One was, that