I'm silly and cross, and forgetful and blundering." "I don't believe it," said Peace, laughing.
"I am," said Gypsy, confidentially; "it's all true; and I'm always tearing my dresses, and worrying father, and getting mad at Winnie, and bothering Miss Melville, and romping round, and breaking my neck! and then, when things don't go right, how I scold!" Peace smiled, and looked incredulous.
"It's just so," said Gypsy, giving a little sharp nod to emphasize her words.

"And here you lie, and never think of being cross and impatient, and love everybody and everybody loves you, and--well, all I have to say is, if I were you I should have scolded everybody out of the house long before this!" "You mustn't talk so about me," said Peace, a faint shadow of pain crossing her face.

"You don't know how wicked I am--nobody knows; I am cross very often.

Sometimes when my back aches as if I should scream, and aunt is talking, I hide my face under the clothes, and don't say a word to her." "You call _that_ being cross!" said Gypsy, with her eyes very wide open.
She buttoned on her sack, and started to go, but stopped a minute.
"I don't suppose you'd want me to come again--I'm so noisy, and all." "Oh, I should be so glad!" said Peace, with one of those rare smiles: "I didn't dare to ask you." "Well; I'll come.

But I told you you wouldn't like me." "I do," said Peace.