"How am I going to sew?" said Gypsy, despairingly; "you're so exactly in
the right place to be hit. I don't believe Mrs. Surly herself could help
snowballing you."

"Mrs. Surly snowball! Why, I never saw her. Wouldn't it be just funny?"

"Winnie Breynton, _will_ you please to go away?"

"I say, Gypsy,--if you cut off a grasshopper's wings, and frow him in a
milk-pan, what would he do?" remarked Winnie, inclining to metaphysics, as
was Winnie's custom when he wasn't wanted. Gypsy took several severe
stitches, and made no answer.

"Gypsy--if somebody builded a fire inside of me and made steam, couldn't I
draw a train of cars?"

"Look here--Gyp., when a cat eats up a mouse----"

Winnie forgot what he was aiming at, just there, coughed, and began again.

"Samson could have drawed a train of cars, anyway."

"Oh, Winnie Breynton!"

"Well, if he had a steam-leg, he'd be jest as good as an
engine--_wouldn't_ I like to seen him!" Just then a branch struck Winnie's
head with decidedly more emphasis than the handful of blossoms, and Winnie
slid to the ground, and remarked, with dignity, that he was sorry he
couldn't stay longer. He would come again another day. About half way up