"Oh, what _do_ you s'pose he's been doing?" Polly asked.

"I don't know," Rose said slowly, "but I remember that he always acted
just like that when he'd been _very_ naughty."

"Rob Lindsey said yesterday that somebody ought to watch Gyp, and
whenever he seems to feel gay, just look around the neighborhood, and
learn what he has been doing," said Rose.

"You'd have to watch him all the time, then," Polly replied, "for he
always acts as if he felt full of fun, and mischief."

"Then whoever watched Gyp could do nothing else. He wouldn't have a
minute for--oh look!" Rose sprang up on to a low ledge that the gardener
had left showing because of its natural beauty. Flowers grew at its
base, and the little rock, or ledge, rose just enough to show its crest
above the blossoms. Something bright and fair was racing down the
street, as if pursuing Gyp.

It shouted lustily. "You Gyp! You _mean_ old,--oh, I don't know what!"

"Why, that's Gwen Harcourt!" said Polly, "and she's chasing Gyp!"

Like a small whirlwind composed of muslin, lace, and ribbons, Gwen
tore down the avenue, shouting, and screaming as she ran.

She had snatched a handful of gravel just as she started to chase him,
and she hurled the small, round stones after his flying figure.