Princess Pollys Gay Winter | Page 2

to get acquainted with her, but
he's just dear, in all but one thing. He isn't always polite to other cats,
and sometimes he's really horrid, and growls so dreadfully that you'd
think he hadn't any manners," said Polly.
"I guess it's just as well," Rose said, "for we'll be pretty busy choosing
a name."
Polly had written a list of fine names, and together they read them, the
white cat sitting and eagerly watching them for a time, and then playing
on the lawn with a ball that was her own especial toy. At last after
reading the list of imposing names again and again, they decided that,
after all, Beauty best suited the lovely creature.

"To think that you are to live here at Avondale again!" Polly said, when
at last the name had been chosen.
"Yes, and to think that there's only one house between yours and
mine!" said Rose.
"You'll be happier in this handsome house with your Uncle John, than
you ever were when you lived here at Avondale before at the little wee
cottage with your Aunt Judith."
"Oh, yes," Rose said quickly, "because now I know that Aunt Judith
loves me, but then, I thought she didn't. With Uncle John,--why every
moment since I've lived at his house, I've known that he loved me."
A moment she sat thinking, then she spoke again.
"When I lived here at Avondale before, I lived all the time at the
cottage, but now I'll live here, with dear Uncle John, and go down to
see Aunt Judith, oh, sometimes."
Then she turned to look at her playmate.
"Polly, Dear Polly!" she cried. "You look more like a princess than
when we first called you 'Princess Polly.' Now, who ever thinks of
calling you Polly Sherwood, your real, truly name?"
"Who cares which they call me, so long as they love me?" cried Polly
with a merry laugh.
They were in the garden at the rear of the house, but between trees and
shrubbery they could see a bit of the avenue.
Something moving attracted their attention.
"Look!" cried Rose. "What's that?" Polly did look.
Something like a huge wheel, all spokes and hub, but no tire, was
whirling down the avenue.

"It's Gyp!" said Polly.
"What? That?" said Rose.
"Yes, that's Gyp, and he's going down the avenue whirling first on his
hands, then on his feet," Polly said.
"Oh, I wish he wasn't in this town," cried Rose, "because no one ever
can guess what horrid thing he'll do next. And he won't stay over by the
woods where he lives. He keeps coming over to this part of Avondale,
and I wonder someone doesn't stop him."
"Who could stop Gyp?" Polly asked.
And who, indeed, could stop him? He was one of a family that was
more than half Gypsy, and Gyp was, surely, the wildest of the clan.
He would steal, yet so crafty was he that no one ever caught him. He
was full of mischief, and nothing delighted him more than the
assurance that he had really frightened someone.
As he usually felt very gay when he had done some especially
annoying bit of mischief, it was safe to say that he had spent a busy
morning somewhere, and now was turning handsprings to give vent to
his hilarious feelings.
"Oh, what do you s'pose he's been doing?" Polly asked.
"I don't know," Rose said slowly, "but I remember that he always acted
just like that when he'd been very naughty."
"Rob Lindsey said yesterday that somebody ought to watch Gyp, and
whenever he seems to feel gay, just look around the neighborhood, and
learn what he has been doing," said Rose.
"You'd have to watch him all the time, then," Polly replied, "for he
always acts as if he felt full of fun, and mischief."
"Then whoever watched Gyp could do nothing else. He wouldn't have a

minute for--oh look!" Rose sprang up on to a low ledge that the
gardener had left showing because of its natural beauty. Flowers grew
at its base, and the little rock, or ledge, rose just enough to show its
crest above the blossoms. Something bright and fair was racing down
the street, as if pursuing Gyp.
It shouted lustily. "You Gyp! You mean old,--oh, I don't know what!"
"Why, that's Gwen Harcourt!" said Polly, "and she's chasing Gyp!"
Like a small whirlwind composed of muslin, lace, and ribbons, Gwen
tore down the avenue, shouting, and screaming as she ran.
She had snatched a handful of gravel just as she started to chase him,
and she hurled the small, round stones after his flying figure.
Not one of them hit him, and as he ran, he looked over his shoulder to
grin like an imp, as he