unt. I don't see
where they are; I told them to be on hand,--Kate, where's Mrs. Breynton?"

"She's up-stairs, sir, dressing," said the servant, who had opened the
door.

"Tell her Miss Gypsy has come; sit down, child, and make yourself at
home."

Gypsy sat down, and Mr. Breynton, not satisfied with sending a message to
his wife, went to the foot of the stairs, and called,--

"Miranda!--Joy!"

A voice from somewhere above answered, a little sharply, that she was
coming as fast as she could, and she told Joyce to go down long ago, but
she hadn't stirred.

Gypsy heard every word, and she began to wonder if her aunt were very glad
to see her, and what sort of a girl her cousin must be, if she didn't obey
her mother unless she chose to. Just then Joy came down stairs, walking
very slowly and properly, and came into the parlor with the manners of a
young lady of eighteen. She might have been a pretty child, if she had
been dressed more plainly and becomingly; but her face was pale and thin,
and there was a fretful look about her mouth, that almost spoiled it.

Gypsy went up warmly, and kissed her. Joy had extended the tips of her
fingers to shake hands, and she looked a little surprised, but kissed her
politely, and asked if she were tired with the journey. Just then Mrs.
Breynton came in, with many apologies for her delay, met Gypsy kindly
enough, and sent her up-stairs to take off her things.

"Who trimmed your hat?" asked Joy, suddenly.

"Miss Jones. She's our milliner."

"Oh," said Joy, "mine is a pheasant. Nobody thinks of wearing velvet
now--most everybody has a pheasant."

"I shouldn't like to wear just what everybody else did," Gypsy could not
help saying. She hung the turban up in the closet, with a little
uncomfortable feeling. It was a fine drab straw, trimmed and bound with
velvet a shade darker. It was pretty, and she knew it; it just matched her
casaque, and her mother had thought it all the more lady-like for its
simplicity. Nevertheless, it was not going to be very pleasant to have her
cousin Joy ashamed of her.

"Oh, oh, how short they wear dresses in Yorkbury!" remarked Joy, as Gypsy
walked across the room. "Mine are nearly to the tops of my boots, now I'm
thirteen years old."

"Are they?--where did I put my bag?" said Gypsy, carelessly. Joy looked a
little piqued that she did not seem more impressed.

"There's dinner," she said, after a silence, in which she had been
secretly inspecting an