Then I like to climb the old walls, where you have to jump when the stones roll off from under you." Mrs.Breynton elevated her eyebrows with a peculiar expression, and returned to her novel.
Gypsy was one of those happy people who are gifted with the faculty of always having a pleasant time, and the solitaire game was good enough, if it hadn't been so quiet; but when she went up to bed, she looked somewhat sober.

She bade Joy good-night, shut herself into the handsomely-furnished room which had been given her, sat down on the floor, and winked hard several times.

She would not have objected at that moment to seeing her mother, or Tom, or pulling her father's whiskers, or squeezing Winnie a little, or looking into the dear, familiar sitting-room where they were all gathered just then to have prayers.

She began to have a vague idea that there was no place like home.

She also came to the conclusion, very faintly, and feeling like a traitor all the time, that her Aunt Miranda was very fashionable and very fretful, and did not treat Joy at all as her mother treated her; that Joy thought her countrified, and had never walked on a fence in all her life; that her uncle was very good, but very busy, and that a fortnight was a rather long time to stay there.
However, her uncle's house was not the whole of Boston.