all from your father?"

Gipsy shook her head silently. It was such a sore subject that she could
hardly bear to speak about it.

"It's a most extraordinary thing!" commented Miss Poppleton. "Since the
day he left you here, he has never written a line either to me or to
you. I don't like the look of it at all. Did he tell you where he was
going?"

"Back to Cape Town," replied Gipsy briefly.

"Did he leave you any address?"

"No; he said he would be going up-country into a very wild place, but he
would write when he got to the Cape."

"Has he any friends at Cape Town who would know of his whereabouts?"

"Not that I know of."

The barometer of Miss Poppleton's face seemed to fall still lower.

"This won't do at all!" she said, frowning. "When your father brought
you, he paid for you up to Christmas, but no more. Now, the rule of
this school is that fees must be paid in advance at the beginning of
each term. I don't make an exception for anybody. Where are your fees
for this term, I should like to know?--to say nothing of the holidays
you spent here!"

It was such an utterly unanswerable question that Gipsy did not attempt
a reply.

"I had a girl left on my hands like this once before," continued Miss
Poppleton, "and I said then it should never happen again. Have you any
relations in England?"

"Not one!"

"Or friends who could take charge of you?"

"I know absolutely nobody in England."

"Who are your relations, then? Surely you must have some in some portion
of the globe?"

"Not any near ones. We have some cousins in New Zealand, at a farm right
up in the bush."

"Where did your father come from? Hadn't your mother any relations?"

"Father was born in New Zealand, but his grandfather came out from
England. Mother was an American, from Texas, I believe. Her mother was
Spanish. I never heard about her relations. She died when I was a baby,
and we've always been travelling about ever since I can remember."

"Humph! That doesn't look well. Had your father no permanent address,
then, where letters would always be forwarded to him?"

"I never heard him say so."

Gipsy stood with her little brown hands pressed hard together, and her
mouth set tightly while she answered this unwelcome catechism. Miss
Poppleton might have pitied the sad look in the dark eyes, but she went
on bluntly:

"I'm afraid it's only too evident he wants to get rid of the burden of
your education. We've got to trace him somehow