They twinkled when she was happy and when she was cross; they twinkled over her school-books; they twinkled, in spite of themselves, at church and Sabbath school; and, when she was at play, they shone like a whole galaxy of stars.

If ever Gypsy's eyes ceased twinkling, people knew she was going to be sick.

Her hair, I am sorry to say, was _not_ curly.
This was Gypsy's one unalleviated affliction in life.

That a girl could possibly be pretty with straight hair, had never once entered her mind.
All the little girls in story-books had curls.

Who ever heard of the straight-haired maiden that made wreaths of the rosebuds, or saw the fairies, or married the Prince?
And Gypsy's hair was not only straight, it was absolutely uncurlable.