and sat out among the clovers and swung on
the gate, in a vague, indefinite sort of way, for two weeks; then one
morning Mrs. Breynton read her a letter which set her eyes on fire with
delight. It was an invitation from her aunt to spend a fortnight in
Boston. It so happened that Gypsy had never been to Boston. It was a long
day's journey from Yorkbury, and Mr. Breynton was not much in favor of
expensive travelling for the children while they were very young; arguing
that the enjoyment and usefulness would be doubled to them when they were
older. Besides, Gypsy's uncle, though he was her father's brother, had
seldom visited Yorkbury. His business kept him closely at home, and his
wife and daughter always went to the seaside in summer; so the two
families had seen very little of each other for years.

Mrs. Breynton, however, thought it best Gypsy should make this visit; and
Gypsy, who had lived twelve years in a State which contained but one city,
considered going to Boston very much as she would have considered going to
Paradise.

It took a few days of delightful hurry and bustle to get ready. There was
much washing and mending and altering, sewing on of trimmings and letting
down of tucks, to be done for her; for Mrs. Breynton desired to spare her
the discomfort of feeling "countrified," and Yorkbury style was not
distinctively _a la Paris_. She told Gypsy, frankly, that she must expect
to find her cousin Joy better dressed than herself; but that her wardrobe
should be neat and tasteful, and in as much accordance with the prevailing
mode as was practicable; so she hoped she would have too much self-respect
to be troubled by the difference.

"I hope I have," said Gypsy, with an emphasis.

The days passed so quickly that it seemed like a dream when she had at
last bidden them all good-by, kissed her mother just ten times, and was
fairly seated alone in the cars, holding on very tightly to her ticket,
and wondering if the men put her trunk in. Although she was so little used
to travelling, having never been farther than to Burlington or Vergennes
in her life, yet she was not in the least afraid to take the journey
alone. Her mother felt sure she could take care of herself, and her father
had given her so many directions, and written such careful memoranda for
her, of changes of cars, refreshment stations, what to do with her check,
and how to look after her baggage, that she felt sure she could not make a
mistake. Bein