level and leafy place,
Where a gypsy scamp had pitched his camp--
A gypsy merry of face.
He welcomed J. M. and Amos and Ann,
And gave them some savory stew,
Piping hot from a big black pot--
And all of them ate it, too!

[Illustration: _The June house wasn't a house at all_]

It was so cool and delightful at the June house that at first the
travelers didn't have much to say--they simply sat and rested and looked
around. But presently Ann began to feel lively again.

"No clocks here, anyway!" she exclaimed.

The gypsy rolled his black eyes. He had a clock, he said, but it ran too
fast. "In fact it ran down," he added.

"Where is it?" asked little Ann.

"How can I tell?" returned the gypsy chap. "It ran down, you know--down
into the woods. And since it runs so fast, I didn't even try to overtake
it."

"But a clock has no feet," cried Amos.

"It has hands, though," retorted the gypsy. "Will you deny that?"

Then he pointed his funny brown finger at Ann. "You can make a rhyme
without a clock striking, you know," he said. "Make one, this minute,
Miss."

Ann was alarmed. "What shall I make it about?" she said in a flustered
voice.

"Anything," the gypsy answered. "Hats will do."

"Hats?" echoed Ann. "However in the world can I make a poem about hats?"

But all at once she did begin to make one; it ran along as smoothly as A B
C.

"If hats were made of flowers,
I think my party bonnet
Would be a satin tulip
With a touch of green upon it.

"I'd wear for fun and frolic
A crinkled daffodil,
With a crown quite comfortable
And a flaring yellow frill.

"I'd choose for church a beauty:
The sweetest flower that grows
Would be my Sunday bonnet--
A soft, pink, ruffled rose.

"A daisy crisp and snowy
Would be the choice for school;
A fresh hat every morning,
With scallops starched and cool.

"For picnics and for rambles
A polished buttercup.
If hats were made of flowers,
How people would dress up!"

Just as Ann said the last word of her poem, an inquisitive thousand-leg
worm scuttled along the ground about a yard away, and she almost turned a
summersault.

"He wouldn't think of hurting you," said the gypsy chap. "Speaking of
hats, little Ann--did you ever hear the tale of the centipede lady and her
shoes?"

Then he told it.

"Little Miss Centipede
Went out to shop,