As she strode rapidly along, all her old vagabond instincts arose, and the gipsy element which had justified her name came strongly to the fore. It was a delightful, mild afternoon, with blue sky and bright sunshine; the gardens on either side of the road were gay with pink hawthorn and long, drooping sprays of laburnum, while blackbirds, thrushes, chaffinches, and tits were singing in a perfect chorus of joy. It felt so glorious to be as free as the birds, to be rid of all the tiresome rules and restrictions and conventions that had oppressed her soul for the last eight months, to be accountable to nobody but herself, and to be able to do just what she chose and go where she liked. School seemed as a nightmare behind her, and the world a fresh wonderland which it was her happy privilege to have the chance to explore. "I'll never go back again--never!" she resolved. "Not if I have to sweep a crossing or sell flowers! But I don't think it will come to that, because I'm sure I can get a post on board ship. Oh, what a blissful relief it is to be on my own for once! I've made up my mind to find Dad, if I have to go to the ends of the earth to hunt for him." In the exuberance of her spirits she almost danced along, humming now Schubert's "Wander Song", with its ringing refrain: "Oh! surely he must careless be, Who never loved to wander free, To wander! To wander!" or "The Miller of Dee", with special emphasis on the words: "I care for nobody, no, not I! And nobody cares for me." The sight of the town of Greyfield, with its streets and shops, changed the current of her thoughts, and brought the more sober reflection that she had no money in her pocket, and that it was a matter of urgent necessity to obtain some if she meant to reach Liverpool and start for South Africa. The fare, she knew, was about seven shillings, and though she hoped to be able to embark on board ship almost immediately after her arrival at the port, she supposed she would require something in the way of food on the journey. It went to her heart to be obliged to sell her beautiful gold watch, but in the circumstances it seemed the only thing to be done, and she braced her mind to part with it. She had no previous experience of selling things, so, choosing out the best jeweller's shop in the High Street, she marched blithely in, and taking off her watch and chain laid them upon the counter. "Yes, Miss; want repairing, I suppose?" enquired the assistant who came to attend to her. "No, they're in perfectly good order; but I wish to sell them. What price can you give me for them?" returned Gipsy confidently. The man looked at her in decided astonishment, then pushed back the watch across the counter with a marked decrease of civility. "We don't do that kind of business," he replied shortly. "Won't you buy it then?" asked Gipsy in accents of blank disappointment. "No; it's not in our line at all."