uch
as make a doll out of your handkerchief and gloves, and hang it on your
pen-handle, but what she had to go into a spasm over it.

No, she wouldn't do a single funny thing all day. She would just sit still
and look sober and sorry, and not trouble Miss Melville in the least. Her
mind was quite made up.

Just as she had arrived at this conclusion she came to the school-house
door. Gypsy and a number of other girls, both her own age and younger, who
either were not prepared to enter the high school, or whose parents
preferred the select school system, composed Miss Melville's charge. They
were most of them pleasant girls, and Miss Melville was an unusually
successful teacher, and as dearly loved as a judicious teacher can be. The
school-house was a bit of a brown building tucked away under some
apple-trees on a quiet by-road. It had been built for a district school,
but had fallen into disuse years ago, and Miss Melville had taken
possession of it.

Gypsy slackened her pace as she passed under the apple-boughs, where the
tiny, budding leaves filled all the air with faint fragrance. It was
nearly recess time; she knew, because she could hear, through the windows,
the third geography class reciting. It was really too bad to be so late.
She went up the steps slowly, the corners of her mouth drawn down as
penitently as Gypsy's mouth could well be.

Just inside the door she stopped. A quick color ran all over her face, her
eyes began to twinkle like sparks from a great fire of hickory, and, in an
instant, every one of those six sober thoughts was gone away
somewhere--nobody could have told where; and the funniest little laugh
broke the silence of the entry.

The most interested observer could not have told what Gypsy saw that was
so very amusing. The entry was quite deserted. Nothing was to be seen but
a long row of girls' "things," hanging up on the nails--hats and bonnets,
tippets, sacks, rubbers, and baskets; apparently as demure and respectable
as hats, bonnets, tippets, sacks, rubbers, and baskets could be. Yet there
Gypsy stood for as much as a minute laughing away quietly to herself, as
if she had come across some remarkable joke.

About ten minutes after, some one knocked at the school-room door. Miss
Melville laid down her geography.

"Cape Ann, Cape Hatteras, Cape--may I go to the door?" piped little Cely
Hunt, holding up her hand. Miss Melville nodded and Cely went. She opened
the door--and jumped.

"Wh