g a bright, observing child, fearless as a boy, and not in
the least inclined to worry, she had no trouble at all. The conductor was
very kind; an old gentleman, who was pleased with her twinkling eyes and
red cheeks, gave her an orange, and helped look after her baggage; two old
ladies gave her fennel and peppermints; and before she reached Boston she
was on terms of intimacy with six babies, a lapdog, and a canary-bird.
Altogether, it had been a most charming journey, and she was almost sorry
when they reached the city, and the train rolled slowly into the dark
depot.

The passengers were crowding rapidly out, the lamps were lighted in the
car, and she felt a little lonely sitting still there, and waiting for her
uncle. She had not waited but a moment, however, when a pleasant,
whiskered face appeared at the car-door, and one of those genial,
"off-hand" voices, that sound at once so kindly and so careless, called
out,--

"O--ho! So here's the girl! Glad to see you, child. This way; the hack's
all ready."

She was hurried into a carriage, her trunk was tossed on behind, and then
the door was shut, and they were driven rapidly away through a maze of
crooked streets, glare of gaslights, and brilliant shop-windows, that
bewildered Gypsy. She had a notion that was the way fairy-land must look.
Her uncle laughed, good-naturedly, at her wide-open eyes.

"Boston is a somewhat bigger village than Yorkbury, I suppose! How's your
father? Why didn't he come with you? Is your mother well? And that
boy--Linnie--Silly--what do call him?"

"Winnie, sir; and then there's Tom."

"Winnie--oh, yes! Tom well, too?"

Before the ride was over, Gypsy had come to the conclusion that she liked
her uncle very much, only he had such a funny way of asking questions, and
then forgetting all about them.

The driver reined up at a house on Beacon Street, and Gypsy was led up a
long flight of steps through a bright hall, and into a room that dazzled
her. A bright coal-fire was glowing in the grate, for it was a chilly
evening, and bright jets of gas were burning in chandeliers. Bright
carpets, and curtains, furniture, pictures, and ornaments covered the
length of two parlors separated only by folding-doors, and mirrors, that
reached from the floor to the ceiling, reflected her figure full length,
as she stood in the midst of the magnificence, in her Yorkbury hat and
homemade casaque.

"Sit down, sit down," said her uncle; "I'll call your a