Well, Gypsy, go--od--" "Bye," finished Gypsy, with a great sob.

And oh, such a hugging and kissing as there was then! [Illustration] Then Joy was caught in her Auntie's arms, and Tom's and Winnie's all at once, it seemed to her, for the coachman was in a very great hurry, and by the time she was in the coach seated by her father, she found she had quite spoiled her new kid gloves, rubbing her eyes.
"Good-bye," called Gypsy, waving one of Winnie's old jackets, under the impression that it was a handkerchief.
"Twice every week!" "Yes--sure: on pink paper, remember." "Yes, and envelopes.

Good-bye.

Good-bye!" So the last nodding and smiling was over, and the coach rattled away, and the house with the figures on the steps grew dim and faded from sight, and the train whirled Joy on over the mountains--away into that future of which she sat thinking in Peace Maythorne's room, of which she sat thinking now, with earnest eyes, looking off through the car-window, with many brave young hopes, and little fear.
"You'd just better come into the dining-room," said Winnie to Gypsy, who was standing out in the yard, remarkably interested in the lilac-bush, and under the very curious impression that people thought she wasn't crying.

"I think it's real nice Joy's gone, 'cause she didn't eat up her luncheon.