r and mother, it was imperatively necessary
that she should show it; there was no danger but what her joy would have
been sufficiently evident--where everything else was--in her eyes; but
according to Gypsy's view of matters, it must express itself in some
sort of celebration. Whether her mother wouldn't have been quite as well
pleased if her delicate, expensive porcelain had been kept safely in the
closet; whether, indeed, it was exactly right for her to take it out
without leave, Gypsy never stopped to consider. When she wanted to do a
thing, she could never see any reasons why it shouldn't be done, like a
few other girls I have heard of in New England. However, just such a
mother as Gypsy had was quite likely to pardon such a little
carelessness as this, for the love in it, and the welcoming thoughts.

"They're comin', comin', comin'," shouted Winnie, from the door-steps,
where, in the exuberance of his spirits, he was trying very hard to
stand on his head, and making a most remarkable failure--"they're
comin' lickitycut, and I'm five years old, 'n' I've got on my best
jacket, 'n' they're comin' slam bang!"

"Coming, coming, coming!" echoed Gypsy, about as wild as Winnie himself,
and flying past him down to the gate, leaving Tom to follow in Tom's own
dignified way.

Such a kissing, and laughing, and talking, and delightful confusion as
there was then! Such a shouldering of bags and valises and shawls, such
hurrying of mother in out of the cold; such a pulling of father's
whiskers, such peeping into mysterious bundles, and pulling off of
wrappers, and hurrying Patty with the tea-things; and questions and
answers, and everybody talking at once--one might have supposed the
travelers had been gone a month instead of a week.

"My kitty had a fit," observed Winnie, the first pause he could find.

"And there are some letters for father," from Tom.

"Patty has a new beau," interrupted Gypsy.

"It was an awfully fit," put in Winnie, undiscouraged; "she rolled under
the stove, 'n' tell _you_ she squealed, and----"

"How is uncle?" asked Tom, and it was the first time any one had thought
to ask.

"Then she jumped--splash! into the hogshead," continued Winnie,
determined to finish.

"He is not very well," said Mr. Breynton, gravely, and then they sat
down to supper, talking the while about him. Winnie subsided in great
disgust, and devoted himself, body, mind, and heart, to the drop-cakes.

"Ah, the best china, I s