"I know absolutely nobody in England." "Who are your relations, then? Surely you must have some in some portion of the globe?" "Not any near ones. We have some cousins in New Zealand, at a farm right up in the bush." "Where did your father come from? Hadn't your mother any relations?" "Father was born in New Zealand, but his grandfather came out from England. Mother was an American, from Texas, I believe. Her mother was Spanish. I never heard about her relations. She died when I was a baby, and we've always been travelling about ever since I can remember." "Humph! That doesn't look well. Had your father no permanent address, then, where letters would always be forwarded to him?" "I never heard him say so." Gipsy stood with her little brown hands pressed hard together, and her mouth set tightly while she answered this unwelcome catechism. Miss Poppleton might have pitied the sad look in the dark eyes, but she went on bluntly: "I'm afraid it's only too evident he wants to get rid of the burden of your education. We've got to trace him somehow. It's all very fine for him to leave you here and desert you!" Gipsy's face turned crimson, and the big sob that had been gathering in her throat nearly choked her for a moment. "Father would never desert me!" she gasped at last. "He promised faithfully he'd come back and fetch me. Oh! you don't know Dad, to say that. I'm afraid something's happened to him--out there!" She did not tell Miss Poppleton how she had hoped against hope, and lain awake at night wondering, and searching her mind for any possible solution of his silence, but she looked such a forlorn little figure that in spite of herself the Principal slightly relented. "Well, Gipsy," she said more kindly, "I'm afraid it looks a bad business. I'm sure you understand that it would be impossible for me to keep on my school if pupils did not pay their fees. I can't afford to be kept waiting. In your case, however, we'll let matters stand for awhile, and see if we hear from your father. In the meantime I might write to your cousins in New Zealand. It will take three months, though, before I can get a letter back." "More," sighed Gipsy. "They only go down to the town once a month for letters, and not then if the river's in flood. They live in such a wild place--right up in the bush." "At any rate they're your relations, and ought to be responsible for you," snapped Miss Poppleton. "If the worst comes to the worst, I could send you out to them through the Emigration Society. It's a very awkward position to be placed in--very awkward indeed. You're absolutely sure you know of nobody, either in England or at the Cape, who could give information about your father?" "No one at all. I didn't know anything about Dad's business. I was at school, and he used just to come and fetch me for the holidays," confessed Gipsy sadly. Miss Poppleton shut her account book with an annoyed slam.