eyes, began--

"I say, fellows, I am going to turn gipsy. Don't you want to go along?"

"What for?" drawled Arthur, who was rather a slow coach.

"What for? why, for fun. Who wants to be shut up at home all the time,
and have an old granny of a nurse blowing him up because his hands are
dirty, or because he don't come home, before the dinner bell rings, to
have his hair brushed and his jacket twitched straight. Now, out in the
woods we can be as dirty as we please, and nobody can say boo! and the
dinners will come to us, and we won't have to run the moment a bell
rings."

"But suppose the dinners don't come?" suggested Richard, who was very
fond of pastry and cakes, "I, for one, can't live on stewed moonshine
and mustard. If that is to be served up, I shall wish I was out of the
woods, and home again."

"I'll go with you," shouted Harry.

"And I," said little George, imitating his brother. "Come along, we are
all ready; the longer we stand, the _fearder_ we'll be. Hurra! hurra!"

"That's you! all right!" cried Charlie, joyfully. "I tell you, I've
every thing fixed,--that is, in my _head_. Hurra! for a gipsy life, and
a camp in the wild woods free, with a kettle hung up on sticks, and all
sorts of goodies for tea. There's some poetry for you!"

And now, laughing, and excited by their anticipations, off they all
started, dragging their fish along, and stumbling through the bushes, to
get clear of the wood paths, and bury themselves in the thickest part of
the forest. It was a long time before they found a place that seemed
lonely enough, but they did discover just the right place at last--a
small, open spot, sweet enough and secluded enough to have made a
ball-room for the fairies; and Charlie's handsome eyes fairly danced
with delight, as he threw himself down, and cried:

"Here we are, boys! splendid place this! Trees all around, and the
ground carpeted with beautiful soft moss."

"All but the soft," growled Richard, jumping up, and making a variety
of wry faces. "Only look what a great thorn I have sat down upon. I'm
half killed. I wonder what thorns were made for?"

"For four-legged gentlemen, with very long ears," answered Arthur. "They
are perfectly devoted to them. I think it's very odd you should be so
fond of thorns, as you are not a donkey."

"Fond--fiddlesticks! Let a fellow alone, can't you?"

"Don't tease him, Arthur," cried Charlie. "Here, I say, all of you,
guess this: Mr. Martingale has ten