r
father won't care much about water-nymphs, when he has such a daughter."

"But he will," said Gypsy, who regarded Mr. Simm's compliments only as a
tiresome interruption to conversation, and by no means as entitled to any
attention; "he will be very sorry, and I am going to tell him right off.
Please, Mr. Simms, will you speak to him?"

"Remarkable development of veracity!" said Mr. Simms, as he bowed himself
away in his polite, old-fashioned way, and disappeared up the stairway
that led to the printing-rooms. It seemed to Gypsy, waiting there so
impatiently, as if her father would never come down. But come he did at
last, looking very much surprised to see her, and anxious to know if the
house were on fire, or if Winnie were drowned.

"No," said Gypsy, "nothing has happened,--I mean nothing of that sort.
It's only about me. I have something to tell you."

"I think I will walk home with you," said her father. "There isn't much
going on Saturday afternoons. Simms, you can lock up when you go home to
supper. I hope you haven't been giving your mother any trouble, or thrown
your ball into Mrs. Surly's windows again," he added, nervously, as they
passed out of the door and up the street together.

"No, sir," said Gypsy, faintly; "it's worse than that."

Mr. Breynton heaved a sigh, but said nothing.

"I know you think I'm always up to mischief, and I don't suppose I'll ever
learn to be a lady and know how not to break things, and I'm so sorry, but
I didn't suppose there was any harm in jumping off an apple-tree, and the
water-nymph went over and perhaps if you sent me to school or something
I'd learn better where they tie you down to a great board," said Gypsy,
talking very fast, and quite forgetting her punctuation.

"The water-nymph!" echoed Mr. Breynton.

"Yes," said Gypsy, dolefully; "right over, head-first--into the
pond--broken to smash!"

"Oh, Gypsy! that is too bad."

"I know it," interrupted Gypsy; "I know it was terribly
careless--terribly. Did you ever know anything so exactly like me? The
worst of it is, being sorry doesn't help the matter. I wish I could buy
you another. Won't you please to take my five dollars, and I'll earn some
more picking berries."

"I don't want your money, my child," said Mr. Breynton, looking troubled
and puzzled. "I'm sorry the nymph is gone; but somehow you do seem to be
different from other girls. I didn't know young ladies ever jumped."

Gypsy was silent. Her father a