"It's a green-and-white gingham monkey," said Gypsy, suddenly, "with a belt, and brown pants, and a cap on wrong side before." "The little----, he may just walk home anyhow," observed Tom, in his autocratic style. "He ought to be taught better than to come where older people are, especially if they don't want him." "I suppose he likes to have a boat-ride as well as we do," suggested Gypsy. "Winthrop!" called Tom, severely. Winnie's chin was on his little fat hand, and Winnie's eyes were fixed upon the water, and Winnie was altogether too deeply absorbed in meditation to deign a reply. "Winnie, where did you come from?" "Oh!" said Winnie, looking up, carelessly; "that you?" "How did you get down here, I'd like to know?" said Gypsy. Winnie regarded her impressively, as if to signify that his principles of action were his own until they were made public, and when they were made public she might have them. "You may just get out of that boat," said Tom, rather crossly for him. Winnie hinted, as if it were quite an accidental remark, that he had no intention of doing so. He furthermore observed that he would be happy to take them to row. "Father said whoever took the boat first was to have it." Tom replied by taking him up in one hand, twisting him over his shoulder, and landing him upon the grass. At this Winnie, as characteristic in his wrath as in his dignity, threw himself flat, and began to scream after his usual musical fashion. "It's too bad!" said Gypsy. "Let him go, Tom--do." "He should have stayed where he was told to," argued Tom, who, like most boys of his age, had a sufficiently just estimate of the importance of his own authority, and who would sometimes do a very selfish thing under the impression that it was his duty to family and state, as an order-loving individual and citizen. "I know it isn't so pleasant to have him," said Gypsy, "but it does make him so dreadfully happy." That was the best of Gypsy;--she was as generous a child as poor, fallen children of Adam are apt to be; as quick to do right as she was to do wrong, and much given to this fancy of seeing people "dreadfully happy." I have said that people loved Gypsy. I am inclined to think that herein lay the secret of it. Then Gypsy never "preached." If she happened to be right, and another person wrong, she never put on superior airs, and tried to patronize them into becoming as good as she was. She made her suggestions in such a straightforward, matter-of-fact way, as if of course you thought so too, and she was only agreeing with you; and was apt to make them so merrily withal, that there was no resisting her. Therefore Tom, while pretending to carry his point, really yielded to the influence of Gypsy's kind feeling, in saying,-- "On the whole, Winnie, I've come to the conclusion to take you, on condition that you always do as I tell you in future. And if you don't stop crying this minute, you sha'n't go."