up out of the mist--like islands from the foam of 'faerylands
forlorn'! You'll love it."

"I'm crazy about camping," said Edith, eagerly;--and waited for an
invitation, which was not forthcoming. Instead, Maurice, talking his
plans over with her, made it quite clear that her room was better than
her company. It was Edith's first experience in being left out, and it
sobered her a little; but she swallowed the affront with her usual good
sense:

"I guess he likes Eleanor more 'an me, so, 'course, it's nice to be by
himself with her."

The prospect of being "by themselves" for a week was deeply moving to
Maurice. And even Eleanor, though she quaked at the idea of spiders or
thunderstorms, thought of the passion of it with a thrill. "We'll be all
alone!" she said to herself.

The morning that they started gypsying, everything was very impatient
and delightful. The packing, the rolling up of blankets, the stowing of
cooking utensils, the consulting of food lists to make sure nothing was
being forgotten--all meant much tearing about and bossing; then came the
loading the stuff into the light wagon, which, with old Lion, Mr.
Houghton had offered to convey the campers (and a temporary Edith) up to
the top of the mountain. Edith was, of course, frankly envious, but
accepted the privilege of even a day in camp with humble gratitude.

"Rover and Johnny and I will come up pretty often, even if it's only for
an hour, because Eleanor must not hurt her hands by washing dishes," she
said, earnestly (still fishing for an invitation).

But Maurice only agreed, as earnestly: "No! Imagine Eleanor washing
dishes! But I don't want you to stay all night, Buster," he told her,
candidly; then he paused in his work, flung up his arms with a great
breath of joyousness. "Great Scott!" he said. "I don't see why gypsies
_ever_ die!"

Edith felt an answering throb of ecstasy. "Oh, Maurice, I wish you and
I were gypsies!" she said. She did not in the least resent his candor
as to her presence during the week of camping; though just before they
started her feelings really were a little hurt: it happened that in
trying to help Eleanor pack, she was close enough to her to notice a
thread on her hair; instantly, she put out a friendly and officious
thumb and finger to remove it--at which Eleanor winced, and said,
"_Ouch!_"

"I thought it was a white thread," Edith explained, abashed.

Eleanor said, sharply, "Please don't touch my hair!" which c