"Why, she fell down those horrid stairs and broke her ankle, and wants
some salmon and green peas, and I'm going to give her my five dollars,
and----Oh, white sugar, some white sugar for her tea. I never heard
anybody groan so, in all my life!"

Mrs. Breynton laid down her work, and laughed.

"Why, mother!" said Gypsy, reddening, "I don't see what there is to laugh
at!"

"My dear Gypsy, you would laugh if you had heard your own story. The most
I can make out of it is, that a little girl who is so excited she hardly
knows what she is talking about, has seen an old woman who has been
begging for fresh salmon."

"And broken her ankle, and is starving," began Gypsy.

"Stop a minute," interrupted Mrs. Breynton, gently. "Sit down and take off
your things, and when you get rested tell me the story quietly and slowly,
and then we will see what is to be done for your old woman."

Gypsy, very reluctantly, obeyed. It seemed to her incredible that any one
could be so quiet and composed as her mother was, when there was an old
woman in town who had had no dinner. However, she sat still and fanned
herself, and when she was rested, she managed to tell her story in as
connected and rational manner, and with as few comments and exclamations
of her own, as Gypsy was capable of getting along with, in any narration.

"Very well," said her mother, when it was finished; "I begin to understand
things better. Let me see: in the first place, you felt so sorry for the
old woman, that you went alone into a strange house, among a sort of
people you knew nothing about, and without stopping to think whether I
should be willing to have you--wasn't that so?"

"Yes'm," said Gypsy, hanging her head a little; "I didn't think--she did
groan so."

"Then Mrs. Littlejohn seems to like to complain, it strikes me."

"Complain!" said Gypsy, indignantly.

"Yes, a little. However, she might have worse faults. The most remarkable
thing about her seems to be her modest request for salmon and white sugar.
You propose giving them to her?"

"Why, yes'm," said Gypsy, promptly. "She's in such dreadful pain. When I
sprained my wrist, you gave me nice things to eat."

"But it wouldn't follow that I should give Mrs. Littlejohn the same," said
Mrs. Breynton, gently. "Salmon and white sugar are expensive luxuries. I
might be able to do something to help Mrs. Littlejohn, but I might not be
able to afford to take her down the two or three pounds of sugar you
pr