"I doubt if there is much here that will interest you," observed Miss
Melville, looking at her keenly. "You may rest yourself, and then I think
you had better go. Visitors always disturb the children."

"Bless their dear hearts!" cried the old woman, shrilly. "They needn't be
afraid of me--_I_ wouldn't hurt 'em. Had a little angel boy once myself;
he's gone to Californy now, an'clock I'm a lone, lorn widdy. I say--little
gal!" and the stranger pointed her finger (it trembled a little) at Sarah
Rowe, who had grown quite red in the face with her polite efforts not to
laugh. "Little gal, whar's yer manners?--laughin'clock at a poor ole
creetur like me! Come out here, and le's hear ye say that beautiful psalm
of Dr. Watts--now!"

"How doth the little busy bee!"

But just then something happened for which the old woman and the scholars
were equally unprepared. Miss Melville looked through the green veil
straight into the old woman's eyes, and said just one word. She said it
very quietly, and she said it without a smile. It was

"Gypsy!"

There was a great hush. Sarah Rowe was the first to break it.

"Why, that's my sack turned wrong side out!"

"And those are my mitts!" said Agnes Gaylord.

"If you please, Miss Melville, that's my black shawl,--I know it by the
border," piped a very little girl in mourning.