It began, as a great many other serious things begin, in a very small and rather funny affair.
[Illustration] Mrs.Surly, who has been spoken of as Gypsy's particular aversion, was a queer old lady with green glasses, who lived opposite Mr.Breynton's, who felt herself particularly responsible for Gypsy's training, and gave her good advice, double measure, pressed down and running over.

One morning it chanced that Gypsy was playing "stick-knife" with Tom out in the front yard, and that Mrs.Surly beheld her from her parlor window, and that Mrs.Surly was shocked.

She threw up her window and called in an awful voice-- "Jemima Breynton!" Now you might about as well challenge Gypsy to a duel as call her Jemima; so-- "What do you want ?" she said, none too respectfully.
"I have something to say to you, Jemima Breynton." "Say ahead," said Gypsy, under her breath, and did not stir an inch.
Distance certainly lent enchantment to the view when Mrs.Surly was in the case.
"_Does_ your ma allow you to be so bold as to play boys' games _with_ boys, right out in sight of folks ?" vociferated Mrs.Surly.
"Certainly," nodded Gypsy.

"It's your turn, Tom." "Well, it's my opinion, Gypsy Breynton, you're a romp.

You're nothing but a romp, and if _I_ was your ma----" Tom dropped his knife just then, stood up and looked at Mrs.Surly.