were puzzling
out a proposition in Euclid, somewhere hidden in its brown oak-leaves.

"Take a chair, and sit by the window and think of it," remarked Tom, in
his most aggravating tone.

"That's precisely what I intend to do, sir," said Gypsy; and was as good
as her word. She went up-stairs and shut her door, and, what was
remarkable, nobody saw anything more of her. What was still more
remarkable, nobody heard anything of her. For a little while it was
perfectly still overhead.

"I hope she isn't crying," said Mr. Breynton, who was always afraid Gypsy
was doing something she ought not to do, and who was in about such a state
of continual astonishment over the little nut-brown romp that had been
making such commotion in his quiet home for twelve years, as a respectable
middle-aged and kind-hearted oyster might be, if a lively young toad were
shut up in his shell.

"Catch her!" said the more appreciative Tom; "I don't believe she cries
four times a year. That's the best part of Gyp.; with all her faults,
there's none of your girl's nonsense about her."

Another person in the room, who had listened to the conversation, went off
at this period into a sudden fit of curiosity concerning Gypsy, and
started up-stairs to find her. This was Master Winthrop Breynton,
familiarly and disrespectfully known as Winnie. A word must be said as to
this young person; for, whatever he may be in the eyes of other people, he
was of considerable importance in his own. He had several distinguishing
characteristics, as is apt to be the case with gentlemen of his age and
experience. One was that he was five lengthy and important years of age;
of which impressive fact his friends, relatives, and chance acquaintances,
were informed at every possible and impossible opportunity. Another was,
that there were always, _at least_, half a dozen buttons off from his
jacket, at all times and places, though his long-suffering mother lived in
her work-basket. A third, lay in the fact that he never walked. He
trotted, he cantered, he galloped; he progressed in jerks, in jumps, in
somersets; he crawled up-stairs like a little Scotch plaid spider, on "all
fours;" he came down stairs on the banisters, the balance of power lying
between his steel buttons and the smooth varnish of the mahogany. On
several memorable occasions, he has narrowly escaped pitching head first
into the hall lamp. His favorite method of locomotion, however, consisted
in a series of _th