ame some day?"

"Catch me! I'm not going to be married at all."

"Not going to be married! Why, I am, and I'm going to have a white
velvet dress too."

"Well, you may. But I wouldn't for a whole trunkful of white velvet
dresses--no, I wouldn't for two dozen trunkfuls. I'm not going to stay
home and keep house, and look sober, with my hair done up behind. I'd
rather be an old maid, and have a pony and run round in the woods."

"Why, I never saw such a girl!" exclaimed Joy, opening her small eyes
wide; "I wouldn't be an old maid for anything. I'm going to be married
in St. Paul's, and I'm going to have my dress all caught up with orange
buds, and spangles on my veil. Therese and I, we planned it all out one
night--Therese used to be my French nurse, you know."

For answer, Gypsy threw herself down suddenly on the velvet moss, her
eyes turned up to the far, hazy sky, showing in patches through a lace
work of thousands of leaves.

"Joy," she said, breaking a silence, and speaking in a curious, earnest
tone Gypsy seldom used, "I do really, though, sometimes go off alone
where there are some trees, and wonder."

"Wonder what?"

"What in this world I was ever made for. I suppose there's got to be a
reason."

"A reason!" said Joy, blankly.

"There's got to be something _done_, for all I see. God doesn't make
people live on and on and die, for nothing. One can't be a little girl
all one's life, climbing trees and making snowballs," said Gypsy, half
dreamily, half impatiently, jumping up and walking on.

[Illustration]

So they wandered away and away, deeper into the heart of the forest,
through moss and tufted grasses, and tangles of mountain flowers,
chatting as girls will, in their silly, merry way, with now and then a
flash of graver thought like this of Gypsy's.

"You're sure you know the way back," said Joy, presently.

"Oh, yes; I've been over it forty times. We've turned about a good many
times, but I don't think we've gone very far from the top of the
mountain."

So, deeper, and further, and on, where the breath of the pines was
sweet; where hidden blossoms were folding their cups for the night, and
the shadows in the thickets were growing gray.

"Gypsy!" said Joy, suddenly, "we're certainly going _down hill_!"

"So we are," said Gypsy, thoughtfully; "it's getting dark, too. They'll
be ready to start for home. I guess we'll go back now."

They turned then, and began rapidly to retrace their steps,