the
little creature was so ragged and thin.

"I live there," said the child, pointing vaguely down the street.
"Mother's to home there somewhars."

"I'll go with you and find your mother," said Gypsy; and taking the
child's hand, she started off in her usual impulsive fashion, without a
thought beyond her pity.

"Gypsy! Gypsy Breynton!" called Joy. "The police will take her home--you
mustn't!"

But Gypsy did not hear, and Joy, shocked and indignant, went home and left
her.

In about an hour Gypsy came back, flushed and panting with her haste. Joy,
in speechless amazement, had looked from the window and seen her _running_
across the Common.

Her aunt met her on the stairs with a face like a thunder-cloud.

"Why, Gypsy Breynton, I am ashamed of you! How _could_ you do such a thing
as to go off with a beggar, and _take hold of her hand_ right there in
Summer Street, and go nobody knows where, alone, into those terrible Irish
streets! It was a _dreadful_ thing to do, and I should think you would
have known better, and I really think I must write to your mother about it
immediately!"

Gypsy stood for a moment, motionless with astonishment. Then, without
saying a word, she passed her aunt quickly on the stairs, and ran up to
her room. Her face was very white. If she had been at home she would have
broken forth in a torrent of angry words.

Kate, the house-maid, was sweeping the entry.

"Did you know there was going to be another great dinner to-day, miss?"
she said, as Gypsy passed her.

Gypsy went into her room, and locked her door. Another of those terrible
dinner-companies, and her aunt so angry at her! It was too much--she could
not bear it! She looked about the room twice, passed her hand over her
forehead, and her face flushed quickly.

One of Gypsy's sudden and often perilous resolutions was made.

CHAPTER XII

NO PLACE LIKE HOME

No one came to the room. After a while the front door opened and shut, and
she saw, from the window, that her aunt and Joy were going out. She then
remembered that she had heard them say they had some calls to make at that
hour. Her uncle was at the store, and no one was now in the house besides
herself, but the servants.

"All right," she said, half aloud; "I couldn't have fixed it better."

For half an hour she stayed in her room with the door locked, and any one
listening outside could have heard her moving briskly about, opening
drawers and shutting closet d