ce a week, she would roll her hoop and
toss her ball under Mrs. Surly's very windows, and laugh merrily to see
the green glasses pushed up and taken off in horror at what Mrs. Surly
termed an "impropriety."

Therefore it created no surprise in the family one morning, when
school-time came and passed, and Gypsy did not make her appearance, that
she was reported to be "making a raft" down in the orchard swamp.

"Run and call her, Winnie," said Mrs. Breynton. "Tell her it is very late,
and I want her to come right up,--remember."

"Yes mum," said Winnie, with unusual alacrity, and started off down the
lane as fast as his copper-toed feet could carry him. It was quite a long
lane, and a very pleasant one in summer. There was a row of hazel-nut
bushes, always green and sweet, on one side, and a stone-wall on the
other, with the broad leaves and tiny blossoms of a grape-vine trailing
over it. The lane opened into a wide field which had an apple-orchard at
one end of it, and sloped down over quite a little hill into a piece of
marshy ground, where ferns and white violets, anemones, and sweet-flag
grew in abundance. In the summer, the water was apt to dry up. In the
spring, it was sometimes four feet deep. It was a pleasant spot, for the
mountains lay all around it, and shut it in with their great forest-arms,
and the sharp peaks that were purple and crimson and gold, under passing
shadows and fading sunsets. And, then, is there any better fun than to
paddle in the water?

Gypsy looked as if she thought not, when Winnie suddenly turned the
corner, and ran down the slope.

She had finished her raft, and launched it off from the root of an old
oak-tree that grew half in the water, and, with a long pole, had pushed
herself a third of the way across the swamp. Her dress was tucked up over
her bright balmoral, and the ribbons of her hat were streaming in the
wind. She had no mittens or gloves on her hands, which were very pink and
plump, and her feet were incased in high rubber boots.

"Hullo!" said Winnie, walking out on the root of the oak.

"Hilloa!" said Gypsy.

"I say--that's a bully raft."

"To be sure it is."

"I haven't had a ride on a raft since--why since 'leven or six years ago
when I was a little boy. I shouldn't wonder if it was twenty-three years,
either."

"Oh, I can't bear people that hint. Why don't you say right out, if you
want a ride?"

"I want a ride," said Winnie, without any hesitation.

"Wait