Tom tossed on his cap and was ready. Gypsy hurried away to array herself
in the complication of garments necessary to the feminine adventurer, if
she so much as crosses the yard; a continual mystery of Providence, was
this little necessity to Gypsy, and one against which she lived in a state
of incessant rebellion. It was provoking enough to stand there in her
room, tugging and hurrying till she was red in the face, over a pair of
utterly heartless and unimpressible rubbers, that absolutely refused to
slip over the heel of her boot, and to see Tom through the window, with
his hands in his pocket, ready, waiting, and impatient, alternately
whistling and calling for her.

"I never _did_!" said Gypsy, in no very gentle tone.

"Hur--ry up!" called Tom, coolly.

"These old rubbers!" said Gypsy.

"What's the matter?" asked her mother, stopping at the door.

"It's enough to try the patience of a saint!" said Gypsy, emphatically,
holding out her foot.

"Perhaps I can help you," said Mrs. Breynton, stooping down. "Why, Gypsy!
your boots are wet through; of course the rubbers won't go on."

"I didn't suppose that would make any difference," said Gypsy, looking
rather foolish. "I got them wet this morning, down at the swamp. I thought
they were dry, though: I sat with my feet in the oven until Patty drove me
off. She said I was in the bread."