. It's all very fine for
him to leave you here and desert you!"

Gipsy's face turned crimson, and the big sob that had been gathering in
her throat nearly choked her for a moment.

"Father would never desert me!" she gasped at last. "He promised
faithfully he'd come back and fetch me. Oh! you don't know Dad, to say
that. I'm afraid something's happened to him--out there!"

She did not tell Miss Poppleton how she had hoped against hope, and lain
awake at night wondering, and searching her mind for any possible
solution of his silence, but she looked such a forlorn little figure
that in spite of herself the Principal slightly relented.

"Well, Gipsy," she said more kindly, "I'm afraid it looks a bad
business. I'm sure you understand that it would be impossible for me to
keep on my school if pupils did not pay their fees. I can't afford to be
kept waiting. In your case, however, we'll let matters stand for awhile,
and see if we hear from your father. In the meantime I might write to
your cousins in New Zealand. It will take three months, though, before I
can get a letter back."

"More," sighed Gipsy. "They only go down to the town once a month for
letters, and not then if the river's in flood. They live in such a wild
place--right up in the bush."

"At any rate they're your relations, and ought to be responsible for
you," snapped Miss Poppleton. "If the worst comes to the worst, I could
send you out to them through the Emigration Society. It's a very awkward
position to be placed in--very awkward indeed. You're absolutely sure
you know of nobody, either in England or at the Cape, who could give
information about your father?"

"No one at all. I didn't know anything about Dad's business. I was at
school, and he used just to come and fetch me for the holidays,"
confessed Gipsy sadly.

Miss Poppleton shut her account book with an annoyed slam.

"Well, there's no further help for it at present. We must see what turns
up. Of course, I can't pretend to keep you here indefinitely. Give me
the address of your cousins in New Zealand, and I will write to them
to-day. That seems the best we can do. The whole thing is most
unfortunate."

Gipsy dictated the address as steadily as she could, then taking
advantage of Miss Poppleton's brief "That will do; you may go now!" she
fled to the most remote corner of her dormitory and sobbed her heart
out. There she was found later on by Miss Edith, who came to put away
clean clothes