oys' games _with_
boys, right out in sight of folks?" vociferated Mrs. Surly.

"Certainly," nodded Gypsy. "It's your turn, Tom."

"Well, it's my opinion, Gypsy Breynton, you're a romp. You're nothing
but a romp, and if _I_ was your ma----"

Tom dropped his knife just then, stood up and looked at Mrs. Surly. For
reasons best known to herself, Mrs. Surly shut the window and contented
herself with glaring through the glass.

Now, Joy had stood in the doorway and been witness to the scene, and
moreover, having been reproved by her aunt for something or other that
morning, she felt ill-humored, and very ready to find fault in her turn.

"I think it's just so, anyway," she said. "_I_ wouldn't be seen playing
stick-knife for a good deal."

"And I wouldn't be seen telling lies!" retorted Gypsy, sorry for it the
minute she had said it. Then there followed a highly interesting
dialogue of about five minutes' length, and of such a character that Tom
speedily took his departure.

Now it came about that Gypsy, as usual, was the first ready to "make
up," and she turned over plan after plan in her mind, to find something
pleasant she could do for Joy. At last, as the greatest treat she could
think of to offer her, she said:

"I'll tell you what! Let's go down to Peace Maythorne's. I do believe I
haven't taken you there since you've been in Yorkbury."

"Who's Peace Maythorne?" asked Joy, sulkily.

"Well, she's the person I love just about best of anybody."

"Best of anybody!"

"Oh, mother, of course, and Tom, and Winnie, and father, and all those.
Relations don't count. But I do love her as well as anybody but
mother--and Tom, and--well, anyway, I love her dreadfully."

"What is she, a woman, or a girl, or what?"

"She's an angel," said Gypsy.

"What a goose you are!"

"Very likely; but whether I'm a goose or not, she's an angel. I look for
the wings every time I see her. She has the sweetest little way of
keeping 'em folded up, and you're always on the jump, thinking you see
'em."

"How you talk! I've a good mind to go and see her."

"All right."

So away they went, as pleasant as a summer's day, merrily chatting.

"But I don't think angels are very nice, generally," said Joy,
doubtingly. "They preach. Does Peace Maythorne preach? I shan't like her
if she does."

"Peace preach! Not like her! You'd better know what you're talking
about, if you're going to talk," said Gypsy, with heightened color.

"Dear me,