of the
boat; Winnie, interested in making a series of remarkable faces at himself
in the water, for a wonder sat still, and Gypsy lay down across two seats,
with her face turned up watching the sky. It was very pleasant, and no one
seemed inclined to talk.

"I wish I were a cloud," said Gypsy, suddenly, after a long silence. "A
little white cloud, with a silver fringe, and not have anything to do but
float round all day in the sunshine,--no lessons nor torn dresses nor
hateful old sewing to do."

"S'posin' it thunder-stormed," suggested Winnie. "You might get striked."

"That would be fun," said Gypsy, laughing. "I always wanted to see where
the lightning came from."

"Supposing there came a wind, and blew you away," suggested Tom, sleepily.

"I never thought of that," said Gypsy. "I guess I'd rather do the sewing."

Presently a little scarlet maple-blossom floated out on the wind, and
dropped right into Gypsy's mouth (which most unpoetically happened to be
open).

"Just think," said Gypsy, whose thoughts seemed to have taken a
metaphysical turn, "of being a little red flower, that dies and drops into
the water, and there's never any fruit nor anything,--I wonder what it was
made for."

"Perhaps just to make you ask that question," answered Tom; and there was
a great deal more in the answer than Tom himself supposed. This was every
solitary word that was said on that boat-ride. A little is so much better
than much, sometimes, and goes a great deal further.

It seemed to Gypsy the pleasantest boat-ride she had ever taken; but Tom
became tired of it before she did, and went up to the house, carrying
Winnie with him. Gypsy stayed a little while to row by herself.

"Be sure you lock the boat when you come up," called Tom, in starting.

"Oh yes," said Gypsy, "I always do."

"Did you bring up the oars?" asked Tom, at supper.

"Yes, they're in the barn. I do sometimes remember things, Mr. Tom."

"Did you----," began Tom, again.

But Winnie just then upset the entire contents of his silver mug of milk
exactly into Tom's lap, and as this was the fourth time the young
gentleman had done that very thing, within three days, Tom's sentence was
broken off for another of a more agitated nature.

That night Tom had a dream.

He thought the house was a haunted castle--(he had, I am sorry to say,
been reading novels in study hours), and that the ghost of old Baron
Somebody who had defrauded the beautiful Lady Somebod