"You will have to put on your best boots," said her mother.

"Oh, Tom!" called Gypsy, in despair, as the shrillest of all shrill
whistles came up through the window. "Everything's in a jumble! I'll be
there as soon as I can."

She changed her boots, tossed on her turban, whisked on her sack, and
began to fasten it with a jerk, when off came the button at the throat,
and rolled maliciously quite out of sight under the bed.

"There!" said Gypsy.

"Can't wait!" shouted Tom.

"I mended that sack," said Gypsy, "only yesterday afternoon. I call it too
bad, when a body's trying to keep their things in order, and do up all
their mending, that things have to act so!"

"I think you have been trying to be orderly," said her mother, helping her
to pin the offending sack about the throat, for there was no time now to
restore the wandering button. "I have noticed a great improvement in you;
but there's one thing wanting yet, that would have kept the button in its
place, and had the boots properly taken off and dried at the right time."

"What's that?" asked Gypsy, in a great hurry to go.

"A little more _thoroughness_, Gypsy."

This bit of a lesson, like most of Mrs. Breynton's moral teachings, was