But I do love her as well as anybody but mother--and Tom, and--well, anyway, I love her dreadfully." "What is she, a woman, or a girl, or what ?" "She's an angel," said Gypsy.
"What a goose you are!" "Very likely; but whether I'm a goose or not, she's an angel.

I look for the wings every time I see her.

She has the sweetest little way of keeping 'em folded up, and you're always on the jump, thinking you see 'em." "How you talk! I've a good mind to go and see her." "All right." So away they went, as pleasant as a summer's day, merrily chatting.
"But I don't think angels are very nice, generally," said Joy, doubtingly.

"They preach.

Does Peace Maythorne preach?
I shan't like her if she does." "Peace preach! Not like her! You'd better know what you're talking about, if you're going to talk," said Gypsy, with heightened color.
"Dear me, you take a body's head off.