"You don't know how thankful it makes me.

Aunt came very near taking a room on the north side.
Sometimes I really don't know what I should have done.

But then I guess I should have found something else to like." _I should have found something else._ A sudden thought came to the two girls then, in a dim, childish way--a thought they could by no means have explained; they wondered if in those few words did not lie the key to Peace Maythorne's beautiful, sorrowful life.

They would not have expressed it so, but that was what they meant.
"See here," broke out Gypsy all at once, "Peace Maythorne wants you and me to make up, Joy." "Your cousin will think I'm interfering with what's none of my business," said Peace, laughing.

"I didn't say exactly that, you know; I was only talking to you." "Oh, I'd just as lief make up now, but I wouldn't this morning," wondering for the second time if Peace _could_ know what she said, and be so gentle and good to her; "I will if Gypsy will." "And I will if Joy will," said Gypsy, "so it's a bargain." "Do you have a great deal of pain ?" asked Joy, as they rose to go, with real sympathy in her puzzled eyes.
"Oh, yes; but then I get along." "Peace Maythorne!" put in Gypsy just then, "is _that_ all the dinner you ate ?" Gypsy was standing by the table on which was a plate containing a cold potato, a broken piece of bread, and a bit of beefsteak.