She must hunt up the kitten, and feed the chickens, and take a peep at the cow, and stroke old Billy in his stall; she must see how many sweet peas were left on the vines, and climb out on the shed-roof that had been freshly shingled since she was gone, and run down to the Kleiner Berg, and over to see Sarah Rowe.

She must know just what Tom had been doing this interminable week, just how many buttons Winnie had lost off from his jacket, and what kind of pies Patty had baked for dinner.

She must kiss her mother twenty times an hour, and pull her father's whiskers, and ride Winnie on her shoulder.

Best of all, perhaps, it was to run down to Peace Maythorne's, and find the sunlight golden in the quiet room, and the pale face smiling on the pillow; to hear the gentle voice, when the door opened, say, "Oh, Gypsy!" in such a way,--as no other voice ever said it; and then to sit down and lay her head upon the pillow by Peace, and tell her all that had happened.
"Well," said Peace, smiling, "I think you have learned a good deal for one week, and I guess you will never _un_learn it." "I guess you'll be very sorry you went to Bosting," remarked Winnie, in an oracular manner, that night, when they were all together in their old places in the sitting-room.

"The Meddlesome Quinine Club had a concert here last Wednesday, and we had preserved seats.