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.