inst her will, in that curious way we see things
in a flash sometimes. This was what she saw:

"I like auntie ever so much, and Tom. Gypsy was cross this morning.
She----" and then followed Joy's own version of the morning's dispute.
Gypsy was vexed. She liked her uncle, and she did not like to have him
hear such one-sided stories of her, and judge her as he would.

She walked over to Joy with very red cheeks.

"Here's your letter. I tried not to read it, but I couldn't help seeing
that about me. I don't think you've any business to tell him about me
unless you can tell the truth."

Of course Joy resented such a remark as this, and high words followed.
They went down to supper sulkily, and said nothing to one another for an
hour. After tea, Joy crept up moodily into the corner, and Gypsy sat
down on the cricket for one of her merry talks with her mother. After
she had told her how many times she missed at school that day, what a
funny tumble Sarah Rowe had on the ice, and laughed over "Winnie's
latest" till she was laughed out and talked out too, she sprang into her
lap, in one of Gypsy's sudden outbursts of affection, throwing her arms
around her neck, and kissing her on cheeks, forehead, lips and chin.

"O-oh, what a blessed little mother you are! What _should_ I do without
you?"

"Mother's darling daughter! What should she do without you?" said Mrs.
Breynton, softly.

But not softly enough. Gypsy looked up suddenly and saw a pale face
peering out at them from behind the curtain, its great eyes swimming in
tears, its lips quivering. The next minute Joy left the room.

There was something dim in Gypsy's eyes as she hurried after her. She
found her crouched upstairs in the dark and cold, sobbing as if her
heart would break. Gypsy put her arm around her.

[Illustration]

"Kiss me, Joy."

Joy kissed her, and that was all that was said. But it ended in Gypsy's
bringing her triumphantly downstairs, where were the lights and the
fire, and the pleasant room, and another cricket waiting at Mrs.
Breynton's feet.

They were very busy after this with the coming Christmas. Joy
confidently expected a five-dollar bill from her father, and Gypsy
cherished faint aspirations after a portfolio with purple roses on it.
But most of their thoughts, and all their energies, were occupied with
the little gifts they intended to make themselves; and herein lay a
difficulty. Joy's father always supplied her bountifully with spendi