"Oh, yes. She needs help. She can't be moved to the poor-house now, and, besides, is likely to get well before long, if she is properly taken care of. I gave her her supper, and have arranged with one or two of the ladies to send her meals for a few days, till we see how she is, and what had better be done. I take care of her to-morrow, and Mrs. Rowe takes her the next day." "Good!" said Gypsy, brightening; "and I may take her down the things, mayn't I, mother?" "If you want to." Gypsy went to bed as happy as a queen. The next morning she rose early, to be sure to be in time to take Mrs. Littlejohn's breakfast; and was disappointed enough, when her mother thought it best she should wait till she had eaten her own. However, on the strength of the remembrance of her mother's tried and proved wisdom, on certain other little occasions, she submitted with a good grace. She carried Mrs. Littlejohn a very good breakfast of griddle-cakes and fish-balls and sweet white bread, and was somewhat taken aback to find that the old woman received it rather curtly, and asked after the salmon. It was very warm at noon. When she carried the dinner, the walk was long and wearisome, and Mrs. Littlejohn neglected to call her an angel of mercy, and it must be confessed Gypsy's enthusiasm diminished perceptibly. That evening Mr. and Mrs. Breynton were out to tea, and Tom was off fishing. Mrs. Breynton left Mrs. Littlejohn's supper in a basket on the shelf, and told Gypsy where it was. Gypsy had been having a great frolic in the fresh hay with Sarah Rowe, and came in late. No one but Winnie was there. She ate her supper in a great hurry, and went out again. Patty saw her from the window, and concluded she had gone to Mrs. Littlejohn's. That night, about eleven o'clock, some one knocked at Mrs. Breynton's door, and woke her up. "Who is it?" she called. "Oh, mother Breynton!" said a doleful voice; "what _do_ you suppose I've done now?" "I'm sure I don't know," said Mrs. Breynton, with a resigned sigh. "I hope she hasn't been walking in her sleep again," said Mr. Breynton, nervously. "Forgotten Mrs. Littlejohn's supper," said the doleful voice through the key-hole. "Why, Gypsy!" "I know it," said Gypsy, humbly. "Couldn't I dress and run down?" "Why, no indeed! it can't be helped now. Run back to bed." "Just like Gypsy, for all the world!" said Tom, the next morning. "Always so quick and generous, and sorry for people, and ready to do, and you can depend on her just about as much as you could on a brisk west wind!" CHAPTER VIII PEACE MAYTHORNE "After you have seen Mrs. Littlejohn, and explained why she went supperless last night," said Mrs. Breynton, "I want you to do an errand for me." "What is it?" asked Gypsy, pleasantly. She felt very humble, and much ashamed, this morning, and anxious to make herself useful. "I want you to find out where Peace Maythorne's room is,--it is in the same house,--and carry her this, with my love."