"My dear Gypsy, you would laugh if you had heard your own story. The most I can make out of it is, that a little girl who is so excited she hardly knows what she is talking about, has seen an old woman who has been begging for fresh salmon." "And broken her ankle, and is starving," began Gypsy. "Stop a minute," interrupted Mrs. Breynton, gently. "Sit down and take off your things, and when you get rested tell me the story quietly and slowly, and then we will see what is to be done for your old woman." Gypsy, very reluctantly, obeyed. It seemed to her incredible that any one could be so quiet and composed as her mother was, when there was an old woman in town who had had no dinner. However, she sat still and fanned herself, and when she was rested, she managed to tell her story in as connected and rational manner, and with as few comments and exclamations of her own, as Gypsy was capable of getting along with, in any narration. "Very well," said her mother, when it was finished; "I begin to understand things better. Let me see: in the first place, you felt so sorry for the old woman, that you went alone into a strange house, among a sort of people you knew nothing about, and without stopping to think whether I should be willing to have you--wasn't that so?" "Yes'm," said Gypsy, hanging her head a little; "I didn't think--she did groan so." "Then Mrs. Littlejohn seems to like to complain, it strikes me." "Complain!" said Gypsy, indignantly. "Yes, a little. However, she might have worse faults. The most remarkable thing about her seems to be her modest request for salmon and white sugar. You propose giving them to her?" "Why, yes'm," said Gypsy, promptly. "She's in such dreadful pain. When I sprained my wrist, you gave me nice things to eat." "But it wouldn't follow that I should give Mrs. Littlejohn the same," said Mrs. Breynton, gently. "Salmon and white sugar are expensive luxuries. I might be able to do something to help Mrs. Littlejohn, but I might not be able to afford to take her down the two or three pounds of sugar you promised her, nor to spend several dollars on fresh salmon--a delicacy which we have had on our own table but once this season. Besides, there are thirty or forty sick people in town, probably, who are as poor and as much in need of assistance as this one old woman. You see, don't you, that I could not give salmon and peas and white sugar to them all, and it would be unwise in me to spend all my money on one, when I might divide it, and help several people." "But there's my five dollars," said Gypsy, only half convinced.