window, and chased away her
dreams. But she had never watched that slow, mysterious change from
midnight to morning, which is the only spectacle that can properly be
called a sunrise.

There was something in Gypsy that made her sit like a statue there,
wrapped in Tom's old coat, her face upturned, and her very breath held in,
as the heavy shadows softened and melted, and the stars began to dim in a
pale, gray light, that fell and folded in the earth like a mist; as the
clouds, that floated faintly over the mountains, blushed pink from the
touch of an unseen sun; as the pink deepened into crimson, and the crimson
burned to fire, and the outlines of the mountains were cut in gold; as the
gold broadened and brightened, and stole over the ragged peaks, and shot
down among the forests, and filtered through the maple-leaves, and chased
the purple shadows far down among the valleys; as the birds twittered in
unseen nests, and the crickets chirped in the meadows, and the dews fell
and sparkled from nodding grasses, and "all the world grew green again."

Gypsy thought it was worth an ugly dream and a little fright, to see such
a sight. She wondered if those old pictures of the great masters far away
over the sea, of which she had heard so much, were anything like it. She
also had a faint, flitting notion that, in a world where there were
sunrises every day, it was very strange people should ever be cross, and
tear their dresses, and forget to lock boats. It seemed as if they ought
to know better.

Just then Gypsy fell asleep, with her head on the bottom of the boat; and
the next she knew it was broad day, and a dear, familiar voice, from
somewhere, was calling,--

"Gypsy!--Why, Gypsy!"

"How do you do?" said Gypsy, sleepily, sitting up straight.

Tom was standing on the shore. He did not say another word. He jumped into
an old mud-scull, that lay floating among the bushes, and paddled up to
her before she was wide enough awake to speak.

"Why, Gypsy Breynton!"

"I've been walking in my sleep," said Gypsy, with a little laugh; "I came
out here to save Winnie from upsetting in a milk-pitcher, and then I woke
up, and I _did_ forget to lock the boat, and I couldn't get ashore."

"How long have you been here?" Tom was very pale.

"Since a little before two. There was a splendid sunrise, only it was
rather cold, and I didn't know where I was at first, and I--well, I'm glad
you're come."

"Put on my coat over that. Lean up