Gypsy flew into the door of the miserable house, up the stairs two steps at a time, to the door of a low room in the second story, and rushed in without knocking.
"Oh, Peace Maythorne!" The cripple lying on the bed turned her pale face to the door, her large, quiet eyes blue with wonder.
"Why, Gypsy! What is the matter ?" Gypsy's face was white still, very white.

She shut the door loudly, and sat down on the bed with a jar that shook it all over.

A faint expression of pain crossed the face of Peace.
"Oh, I didn't mean to--it was cruel in me! How _could_ I?
Have I hurt you _very_ badly, Peace ?" Gypsy slipped down upon the floor, the color coming into her face now, from shame and sorrow.

Peace gently motioned her back to her place upon the bed, smiling.
"Oh, no.

It was nothing.