Winnie came up to the entry door, and, at a respectful distance, told her they were "popping" corn down stairs; but she shook her head, and proceeded with her dusting like a hero.

Tom whistled for her up the chimney-flue; but she only gave a little thump on the floor, and said she was busy.
It was like walking into a labyrinth to dispose of the contents of that table-cloth.

How to put away the pencils and the rubber, when the drawing-box was lost; how to collect all the cookey-crumbs and wandering needles, that slipped out of your finger as fast as you took hold of them; where on earth to put those torn geography leaves, that wouldn't stay in the book, and couldn't be thrown away; where _was_ the cork to the inkstand?
and how should she hang up the riding-whip, with the string gone?
These were questions that might well puzzle a more systematic mind than Gypsy's.

However, in due time, the room was restored to an order that was delightful to see,--for, if Gypsy made up her mind to a thing, she could do it thoroughly and skilfully,--and she returned to the bureau drawer.

This drawer was a fair specimen of the rest of Gypsy's drawers, shelves, and cupboards, and their name was Legion.