It seemed as if they ought to know better.
Just then Gypsy fell asleep, with her head on the bottom of the boat; and the next she knew it was broad day, and a dear, familiar voice, from somewhere, was calling,-- "Gypsy!--Why, Gypsy!" "How do you do ?" said Gypsy, sleepily, sitting up straight.
Tom was standing on the shore.

He did not say another word.

He jumped into an old mud-scull, that lay floating among the bushes, and paddled up to her before she was wide enough awake to speak.
"Why, Gypsy Breynton!" "I've been walking in my sleep," said Gypsy, with a little laugh; "I came out here to save Winnie from upsetting in a milk-pitcher, and then I woke up, and I _did_ forget to lock the boat, and I couldn't get ashore." "How long have you been here ?" Tom was very pale.
"Since a little before two.

There was a splendid sunrise, only it was rather cold, and I didn't know where I was at first, and I--well, I'm glad you're come." "Put on my coat over that.

Lean up against my arm--so.