Tom says it ever so much." "I shouldn't think your mother would let you use boys' talk," said Joy.
Gypsy sometimes stood in need of some such hint as this, but she did not relish it from Joy.

By way of reply she climbed up the post of the clothesline.
Joy thought the chickens were pretty, but they had such long legs, and such a silly way of squealing when you took them up, as if you were going to murder them.

Besides she was afraid she should step on them.

So they went into the barn, and Gypsy exhibited Billy and Bess and Clover with the talent of a Barnum and the pride of a queen.

Billy was the old horse who had pulled the family to church through the sand every Sunday since the children were babies, and Bess and Clover were white-starred, gentle-eyed cows, who let Gypsy pull their horns and tickle them with hay, and make pencil-marks on their white foreheads to her heart's content, and looked at Joy's strange face with great musing beautiful brown eyes.