and then, tossing her head spitefully, caper away.

No wonder the girls ejaculated at her smartness.

Finally she turned gentle as a lamb, soft as silk, and let Tess
adjust the saddle; but scarcely had Tess ridden a block before--
wrench!--something happened to the saddle, and Tess was left seated
by the roadside while Gypsy vanished in a cloud of dust. The imp had
deliberately swelled herself out so that the girth would be loose!

Every day brought new revelations of Gypsy's intelligence. Missy
took to spending every spare minute at Tess's. Under this new
captivation her own pet, Poppy, was thoughtlessly neglected. And
duties such as practicing, dusting and darning were deliberately
shirked. Even reading had lost much of its wonted charm: the
haunting, soul-swelling rhythms of poetry, or the oddly phrased
medieval romances which somehow carried you back through the
centuries--into the very presence of those queenly heroines who
trail their robes down the golden stairways of legend. But Missy's
feet seemed to have forgotten the familiar route to the Public
Library and, instead, ever turned eagerly toward the O'Neills'--that
is, toward the O'Neills' barn.

And, if she had admired Tess before, she worshipped her now for so
generously permitting another to share the wonderful pony--it was
like being a half owner. And the odd thing was that, though Gypsy
had undeniable streaks of wildness, Missy never felt a tremor while
on her. On Gypsy she cantered, she trotted, she galloped, just as
naturally and enjoyably as though she had been born on horseback.
Then one epochal day, emulating Tess's example, she essayed to ride