"Why, good afternoon, Miss Gypsy," said Mr. Simms; "I'm surprised to see you such a warm day--very much surprised. But you always were a remarkable young lady." "Yes," panted Gypsy; "where's father, Mr. Simms?" "He's up in the printing-room just now, talking with the foreman. Can I carry any message for you, Miss Gypsy?" "Oh, Mr. Simms," said Gypsy, confidentially, "I've done the most dreadful thing!" "Dear me! I don't see how that is possible," said Mr. Simms, taking his spectacles off nervously, and putting them on again. "I have," said Gypsy; "I've broken the water-nymph!" "Is that all?" asked Mr. Simms, looking relieved; "why, how did it happen?" "I jumped on it." _"Jumped on it!"_ "Yes; I'm sure I don't know what father'll say." "Well, I _must_ say you are a wonderful young person," said Mr. Simms, proudly. "I'm sure I'm glad that's all. Don't you fret, my dear. Your father won't care much about water-nymphs, when he has such a daughter." "But he will," said Gypsy, who regarded Mr. Simm's compliments only as a tiresome interruption to conversation, and by no means as entitled to any attention; "he will be very sorry, and I am going to tell him right off. Please, Mr. Simms, will you speak to him?" "Remarkable development of veracity!" said Mr. Simms, as he bowed himself away in his polite, old-fashioned way, and disappeared up the stairway that led to the printing-rooms. It seemed to Gypsy, waiting there so impatiently, as if her father would never come down. But come he did at last, looking very much surprised to see her, and anxious to know if the house were on fire, or if Winnie were drowned. "No," said Gypsy, "nothing has happened,--I mean nothing of that sort. It's only about me. I have something to tell you." "I think I will walk home with you," said her father. "There isn't much going on Saturday afternoons. Simms, you can lock up when you go home to supper. I hope you haven't been giving your mother any trouble, or thrown your ball into Mrs. Surly's windows again," he added, nervously, as they passed out of the door and up the street together. "No, sir," said Gypsy, faintly; "it's worse than that." Mr. Breynton heaved a sigh, but said nothing. "I know you think I'm always up to mischief, and I don't suppose I'll ever learn to be a lady and know how not to break things, and I'm so sorry, but I didn't suppose there was any harm in jumping off an apple-tree, and the water-nymph went over and perhaps if you sent me to school or something I'd learn better where they tie you down to a great board," said Gypsy, talking very fast, and quite forgetting her punctuation. "The water-nymph!" echoed Mr. Breynton. "Yes," said Gypsy, dolefully; "right over, head-first--into the pond--broken to smash!" "Oh, Gypsy! that is too bad."