pect to be believed in telling of
them. The front side of the bed, the upper drawer in the bureau, a
hair-ribbon, who should be helped first at the table, who was the best
scholar, which was the more stylish color, drab or green, and whether
Vermont wasn't a better State than Massachusetts--such matters might
very appropriately be the subjects of the dissensions of young ladies in
pinafores and pantalettes.

Yet I think you will bear me witness, girls, some of you--ah, I know
you by the sudden pink in your cheeks--who have gone to live with a
cousin, or had a cousin live with you, or whose mother has adopted an
orphan, or taken charge of a missionary's daughter, or in some way or
other have been brought for the first time in your life into daily and
hourly collision with another young will just as strong and unbending as
yours--can't you bear me witness that, in these little contests between
Joy and Gypsy, I am telling no "made-up stories," but sad, simple fact?

If you can't, I am very glad of it.

No, as I said before, matters were not going on at all comfortably; and
every week seemed to make them worse. Wherein lay the trouble, and how
to prevent it, neither of the girls had as yet exerted themselves to
think.

A week or two after the adventures that befell that unfortunate kitten,
something happened which threatened to make the breach between Gypsy and
Joy of a very serious nature. It began, as a great many other serious
things begin, in a very small and rather funny affair.

[Illustration]

Mrs. Surly, who has been spoken of as Gypsy's particular aversion, was a
queer old lady with green glasses, who lived opposite Mr. Breynton's,
who felt herself particularly responsible for Gypsy's training, and gave
her good advice, double measure, pressed down and running over. One
morning it chanced that Gypsy was playing "stick-knife" with Tom out in
the front yard, and that Mrs. Surly beheld her from her parlor window,
and that Mrs. Surly was shocked. She threw up her window and called in
an awful voice--

"Jemima Breynton!"

Now you might about as well challenge Gypsy to a duel as call her
Jemima; so--

"What do you want?" she said, none too respectfully.

"I have something to say to you, Jemima Breynton."

"Say ahead," said Gypsy, under her breath, and did not stir an inch.
Distance certainly lent enchantment to the view when Mrs. Surly was in
the case.

"_Does_ your ma allow you to be so bold as to play b