Gypsys Cousin Joy | Page 8

fact,
before she was through with the work she became really very much
interested in it. She had put a clean white quilt upon the bed, and
looped up the curtain with a handsome crimson ribbon, taken from the
stock in the wardrobe. She had swept and dusted every corner and
crevice; she had displayed all her ornaments to the best advantage, and
put fresh cologne in the bottles. She had even brought from some
sanctum, where it was folded away in the dark, a very choice silk flag
about four inches long, that she had made when the war began, and was
keeping very tenderly to wear when Richmond was taken, and pinned it
up over her looking-glass.
On the table, too, stood her Parian vase filled with golden and
blood-red maple-leaves, and the flaming berries of the burning-bush.
Very prettily the room looked, when everything was finished, and
Gypsy was quite proud of it.
Joy came Thursday night. They were all in the parlor when the coach
stopped, and Gypsy ran out to meet her.
A pale, sickly, tired-looking child, draped from head to foot in black,
came up the steps clinging to her father's hand, and fretting over
something or other about the baggage.

Gypsy was springing forward to meet her, but stopped short. The last
time she had seen Joy, she was in gay Stuart-plaid silk and corals. She
had forgotten all about the mourning. How thin and tall it made Joy
look!
Gypsy remembered herself in a minute and threw her arms warmly
around Joy's neck. But Joy did not return the embrace, and gave her
only one cold kiss. She had inferred from Gypsy's momentary
hesitation that she was not glad to see her.
Gypsy, on her part, thought Joy was proud and disagreeable. Thus the
two girls misunderstood each other at the very beginning.
"I'm real glad to see you," said Gypsy.
"I thought we never should get here!" said Joy, petulantly. "The cars
were so dusty, and your coach jolts terribly. I shouldn't think the town
would use such an old thing."
Gypsy's face fell, and her welcome grew faint.
Joy had but little to say at supper. She sat by her father and ate her
muffins like a very hungry, tired child--like a very cross child, Gypsy
thought. Joy's face was always pale and fretful; in the bright lamplight
now, after the exhaustion of the long journey, it had a pinched,
unpleasant look.
"Hem," coughed Tom, over his teacup. Gypsy looked up and their eyes
met. That look said unutterable things.
[Illustration]
If it had not been for Mrs. Breynton, that supper would have been a
dismal affair. But she had such a cozy, comfortable way about her, that
nobody could help being cozy and comfortable if they tried hard for it.
After a while, when Mr. Breynton and his brother had gone away into
the library for a talk by themselves, and Joy began to feel somewhat
rested, she brightened up wonderfully, and became really quite

entertaining in her account of her journey. She thought Vermont looked
cold and stupid, however, and didn't remember having noticed much
about the mountains, for which Gypsy thought she should never forgive
her.
But there was at least one thing Gypsy found out that evening to like
about Joy. She loved her father dearly. One could not help noticing
how restless she was while he was out of the room, and how she
watched the door for him to come back; how, when he did come, she
stole away from her aunt and sat down by him, slipping her hand softly
into his. As he had been all her life the most indulgent and patient of
fathers, and was going, early to-morrow morning, thousands of miles
away from her into thousands of unknown dangers, it was no wonder.
While it was still quite early, Joy proposed going to bed. She was tired,
and besides, she wanted to unpack a few of her things. So Gypsy
lighted the lamp and went up with her.
"So I am to sleep with you," said Joy, as they opened the door, in by no
means the happiest of tones, though they were polite enough.
"Yes. Mother thought it was better. See, isn't my room pretty?" said
Gypsy, eagerly, thinking how pleased Joy would be with the little
welcome of its fresh adornments.
"Oh, is this it?"
Gypsy stopped short, the hot color rushing all over her face.
"Of course, it isn't like yours. We can't afford marble bureaus and
Brussels carpets, but I thought you'd like the maple-leaves, and I
brought out the flag on purpose because you were coming."
"Flag! Where? Oh, yes. I have one ten times as big as that at home,"
said Joy, and then she