off before I was awake, so I was
determined he shouldn't. I guess I kept waking up pretty much all night
to see if it wasn't time."

"I wish he didn't have to go," said Gypsy. She felt sorry for Joy just
then, seeing this best side of her that she liked. For about a minute
she wished she had let her have the upper drawer.

[Illustration]

Joy's father started by a very early train, and it was still hardly
light when he sat down to his hurried breakfast, with Joy close by him,
that pale, pinched look on her face, and so utterly silent that Gypsy
was astonished. She would have thought she cared nothing about her
father's going, if she had not seen her standing in the gray light
upstairs.

"Joyce, my child, you haven't eaten a mouthful," said her father.

"I can't."

"Come, dear, do, just a little, to please father."

Joy put a spoonful of tea to her lips, and put it down. Presently there
was a great rumbling of wheels outside, and the coachman rang the
door-bell.

"Well, Joy."

Joy stood up, but did not speak. Her father, holding her close in his
arms, drew her out with him into the entry. Mrs. Breynton turned away;
so did Gypsy and the rest. In a minute they heard Joy go into the parlor
and shut the door, and then her father called out to them with his
cheerful good-byes, and then he was in the coach, and the door was shut.

Gypsy stole into the parlor. Joy was standing there alone by the window.

"Why don't you cry?" said Gypsy; "I would."

"I don't want to," said Joy, moving away. Her sorrow at parting with her
father made her fretful that morning. This was Joy's way. She had
inherited her mother's fashion of taking trouble. Gypsy did not
understand it, and her sympathy cooled a little. Still she really wanted
to do something to make her happy, and so she set about it in the only
ways she knew.

"See here, Joy," she called, merrily, after breakfast, "let's come out
and have a good time. I have lots and lots to show you out in the barn
and round. Then there is all Yorkbury besides, and the mountains.
Which'll you do first, see the chickens or walk out on the ridge-pole?"

"On the _what_?"

"On the ridge-pole; that's the top of the roof, you know, over the
kitchen. Tom and I go out there ever so much."

"Oh, I'd rather see the chickens. I should think you'd kill yourself
walking on roofs. Wait till I get my gloves."

"Oh, you don't want gloves in _Yorkbury_," said Gypsy, with a very
superior air.