"But he will," said Gypsy, who regarded Mr. Simm's compliments only as a
tiresome interruption to conversation, and by no means as entitled to any
attention; "he will be very sorry, and I am going to tell him right off.
Please, Mr. Simms, will you speak to him?"

"Remarkable development of veracity!" said Mr. Simms, as he bowed himself
away in his polite, old-fashioned way, and disappeared up the stairway
that led to the printing-rooms. It seemed to Gypsy, waiting there so
impatiently, as if her father would never come down. But come he did at
last, looking very much surprised to see her, and anxious to know if the
house were on fire, or if Winnie were drowned.

"No," said Gypsy, "nothing has happened,--I mean nothing of that sort.
It's only about me. I have something to tell you."

"I think I will walk home with you," said her father. "There isn't much
going on Saturday afternoons. Simms, you can lock up when you go home to
supper. I hope you haven't been giving your mother any trouble, or thrown
your ball into Mrs. Surly's windows again," he added, nervously, as they
passed out of the door and up the street together.

"No, sir," said Gypsy, faintly; "it's worse than that."

Mr. Breynton heaved a sigh, but said nothing.

"I know you think I'm always up to mischief, and I don't suppose I'll ever
learn to be a lady and know how not to break things, and I'm so sorry, but
I didn't suppose there was any harm in jumping off an apple-tree, and the
water-nymph went over and perhaps if you sent me to school or something