"As if I couldn't take as good care of you as Guy Hallam, or the next man!" he said, in an insulted tone. "Then Tom is willing you should go," observed Mrs. Breynton. "Why--I don't know," said Tom, who had not intended to commit himself; "I didn't say so." "But you will say so--now, there's a dear, good Tom!" said Gypsy, giving him a soft kiss on one cheek. Gypsy did not very often kiss Tom unless he asked her, and it was the best argument she could have used; for, though Tom always pretended to be quite above any interest in such tender proceedings, yet this rogue of a sister looked so pink and pretty and merry, with her arms about his neck and her twinkling eyes looking into his, that there was no resisting her. Gypsy was quite conscious of this little despotism, and was enough of a diplomatist to reserve it for rare and important occasions. "We--ell," said Tom, slowly; "I don't know as I care, if Hallam doesn't--just for once, you understand; you're not to ask me again as long as you live." "There, there!" cried Gypsy, clapping her hands, and jumping up and down. "Tom, you are a cherub--a wingless cherub. Now, mother!" "But supposing it rains?" suggested Mrs. Breynton. "Oh, we'll take our water-proofs." "The tent will be dry enough," put in Tom, bringing in his forces like a good soldier, now he was fairly enlisted. "But if you catch cold and get sick, my dear; Tom won't want to cut short his excursion to bring you home." "There's Mr. Fisher, right on top of the mountain; he'd bring me in his wagon. Besides, I wouldn't be silly enough to get sick." "But Sarah might." "Sarah does as I tell her," said Gypsy, significantly. "I should take care of her." "But Mrs. Rowe may not be willing Sarah should go, and Mr. Guy Hallam must be asked, Gypsy." "Well, but----," persisted Gypsy; "if Mrs. Rowe and Mr. Hallam and everybody are willing, may I go?" "Well," said Mrs. Breynton, after a few minutes' thinking, "I guess so; if Tom will take good care of you; and if you will promise to go to Mr. Fisher's the rainy nights--I mean if it rains hard." "Oh, mother, mother Breynton! There never was such a dear little woman in this world!" "Why, my _dear_!" said Mr. Breynton, when he heard of it; "how can you let the child do such a thing? She will fall off the precipice, or walk right into a bear's den, the first thing." "Oh, I'll trust her," answered her mother, smiling; "and then, Mrs. Fisher will be so near, and so ready to take care of her if it is cold or wet; it isn't as if she were going off into a wild place; of course, then, I shouldn't let her go without some grown woman with them." "Well, my dear, I suppose you know best. I believe I agreed to let you do as you pleased with your girl, seeing she's the only one."