Palace, the Tuilleries, Versailles, and the Alhambra, all in one. The only
fault to be found with it was that it was not marble. It was a species of
weather-proof composition, but very finely carved, and much valued by Mr.
Breynton. It was a pretty thing--a water-nymph rising from an unfolded
lily, with both hands parting her long hair from a wondering face, that,
pleased with its own beauty, was bent to watch its reflection in the
water.

Altogether, the spot was so bewitching, that it is little wonder Gypsy's
work kept dropping into her lap, and her eyes wandering away somewhere
into dreamland.

One of those endless seams on a white skirt that you have torn from the
placket to the hem, is not a very attractive sight, if you have it to
mend, and don't happen to like to sew any better than Gypsy did.

She seemed fated to be interrupted in her convulsive attempts at
"run-and-back stitching." Winnie was hardly in the house, before Sarah
Rowe came out in the garden to hunt her up.

"Oh, dear," said Gypsy, as Sarah's face appeared under the apple-boughs;
"I'm not a bit glad to see you."

"That's polite," said Sarah, reddening; "I'll go home again."

"Look," said Gypsy, laughing; "just _see_ what I've got to mend, and I
came out here on purpose to get it done, so I could come over to your
house. You see I oughtn't to be glad to see you at all, but I am
exceedingly."