e of elegant worsteds, twining the brilliant,
soft folds of orange, and crimson, and royal purple, and soft,
wood-browns about her hands, it cost her a bit of a struggle to say
this. It seems rather a small thing to write about? Ah, they are these
_bits of_ struggles in which we learn to fight the great ones; perhaps
these bits of struggles, more than the great ones, make up life.

"You're real good," said Gypsy, surprised; "I think I'd rather not. It
isn't really half of it mine, and I don't want to say so. But it's just
as good in you."

At that moment, though neither of them knew it was so, one thought was
in the heart of both. It was a sudden thought that came and went, and
left a great happiness in its place (for great happiness springs out of
very little battles and victories),--a memory of Peace Maythorne's
verse. The good Christmas time would have been a golden time to them, if
it taught them in ever so small, imperfect ways, to prefer one another
"in honor."

One day before it came a sudden notion seemed to strike Gypsy, and she
rushed out of the house in her characteristic style, as if she were
running for her life, and down to Peace Maythorne's, and flew into the
quiet room like a tempest.

"Peace Maythorne, what's your favorite verse?"

"Why, what a hurry you're in! Sit down and rest a minute."

"No, I can't stop. I just want to know what your favorite verse is, as
quick as ever you can be."

"Did you come down just for that? How queer! Well, let me see."

Peace stopped a minute, her quiet eyes looking off through the window,
but seeming to see nothing--away somewhere, Gypsy, even in her hurry
stopped to wonder where.

"I think--it isn't one you'd care much about, perhaps--I think I like
this. Yes, I think I _can't help_ liking it best of all."

Peace touched her finger to a page of her Bible that lay open. Gypsy,
bending over, read:

"And the inhabitants shall not say I am sick."

When she had read, she stooped and kissed Peace with a sudden kiss.

From that time until Christmas Gypsy was very busy in her own room with
her paint box, all the spare time she could find. On Christmas Eve she
went down just after dusk to Peace Maythorne's room, and called Miss
Jane out into the entry.

"This is for Peace, and I made it. I don't want her to see a thing about
it till she wakes up in the morning. Could you please to fasten it up on
the wall just opposite the bed where the sun shines in? sometime a