ons flying off from his jacket.

Mrs. Breynton ran up-stairs in a great hurry.

"What's the matter, Gypsy?"

"She sh--sh--shooked me--the old thing!" sobbed Winnie.

"He broke my box and lost all my beads, and I've got them all to pick up
just as I was trying to put my room in order, and so I was mad," said
Gypsy, frankly.

"Winnie, you may go down stairs," said Mrs. Breynton, "you must learn to
be more careful with Gypsy's things."

Winnie slid down on the banisters, and Mrs. Breynton shut the door.

"What are you trying to do, Gypsy?"

"Pick up my room," said Gypsy.

"But what had that to do with stringing the beads?"

"Why, I--don't know exactly. I took out my drawer to fix it up, and my
beads were all in a muss, and so I thought I'd sort them, and then I
forgot."

"I see several things in the room that want putting in order before a
little box of beads," said Mrs. Breynton, with a smile that was half
amused, half sorrowful. Gypsy cast a deprecating glance around the room,
and into her mother's face.

"Oh, I _did_ mean to shut the wardrobe door, and I thought I'd taken the
broom down stairs as much as could be, but that everlasting Tom had to go
and---- Oh dear! did you ever see anything so funny in all your life?" And
Gypsy looked at the image, and broke into one of her rippling laughs.

"It is really a serious matter, Gypsy," said Mrs. Breynton, looking
somewhat troubled at the laugh.

"I know it," said Gypsy, sobering down, "and I came up-stairs on purpose
to put everything to rights, and then I was going to live like other
people, and keep my stockings darned, and--then I had to go head first
into a box of beads, and that was the end of me. It's always so."

"You know, Gypsy, it is one of the signs of a lady to keep one's room in
order; I've told you so many times."

"I know it," said Gypsy, forlornly; "don't you remember when I was a
little bit of a thing, my telling you that I guessed God made a mistake
when he made me, and put in some ginger-beer somehow, that was always
going off? It's pretty much so; the cork's always coming out at the wrong
time."

"Well," said Mrs. Breynton, with a smile, "I'm glad you're trying afresh
to hammer it in. Pick up the beads, and tear down the image, and go to
work with a little system. You'll be surprised to find how fast the room
will come to order."

"I think," she added, as she shut the door, "that it was hardly worth
while to----"

"To shake Winnie