"

"I like the deer," said Gypsy; "only I feel so sorry for them."

"Sorry for them!"

"Why, they look so as if they wanted to be off in the woods with nobody
round. I like the rabbits better, jumping round at home under the
pine-trees. Then I think the trout-brook, at Ripton, is a great deal
prettier than these fountains. But then I guess I should like the stores,"
she said, apologetically, a little afraid she had hurt or provoked Joy.

"I never saw anybody like you," said Joy, looking puzzled. When they came
to Tremont, and then to Washington Street, Gypsy was in an ecstasy. She
kept calling to Joy to see that poor little beggar girl, or that funny old
woman, or that negro boy who was trying to stand on his head, or the
handsome feather on that lady's bonnet, and stopped every other minute to
see some beautiful toy or picture in a shop-window, till Joy lost all
patience.

"Gypsy Breynton! don't keep staring in the windows so; people will think
we are a couple of servant girls just from down East, who never saw
Washington Street before!"

"I never did," said Gypsy, coolly.

But she looked a little sober. What was the use of Boston, and all its
beautiful sights and busy sounds, if you must walk right along as if you
were going to church, and not seem to see nor hear any of the wonders, for
fear of being called countrified? Gypsy began to hate the word.

"You must take your cousin to the Aquarial Gardens," said Mr. Breynton to
Joy, at dinner.

"Oh, I'm tired to death of the Aquarial Gardens," answered Joy; "none of
the girls I go with ever go now, and I've seen it all so many times."

"But Gypsy hasn't. Try the Museum, then."

"I can't bear the Museum. The white snakes in bottles make me so nervous,"
said Joy.

"A white snake in a bottle! Why, I never saw one," said Gypsy, with
sparkling eyes.

"Well, I'll go with you, child, if Joy hasn't the politeness to do it,"
said her uncle, patting her eager face.

"Mr. Breynton," said his wife, petulantly, "you are _always_ blaming that
child for something."

Yet, in the very next breath, she scolded Joy, for delaying her practising
ten minutes, more severely than her father would have done if she had told
a falsehood.

Mr. Breynton was very busy the next day, and forgot all about Gypsy; but
the day after he left his store at an early hour, and took her to the
Museum, and out to Bunker Hill. That was the happiest day Gypsy spent in
Boston.

The day after he