Gipsy dictated the address as steadily as she could, then taking advantage of Miss Poppleton's brief "That will do; you may go now!" she fled to the most remote corner of her dormitory and sobbed her heart out. There she was found later on by Miss Edith, who came to put away clean clothes. Poor Miss Edith was generally torn in two between strict loyalty to her sister and the promptings of her own kind heart. She knew the cause of Gipsy's trouble well enough. She sat down beside the forlorn child, and comforted her as best she could.
"I wish Dad would write! Oh, he can't have forgotten me! I wish I'd anybody to go to; I haven't a soul nearer than New Zealand!" wailed Gipsy.
"You mustn't make yourself so miserable, Gipsy dear!" said Miss Edith nervously. "I'm sure Miss Poppleton will keep you here for a while, and perhaps your father will write after all. My sister will do everything that's right—she always does. Oh, don't sob so, child! She'll see that you're taken care of. Do try to cheer up, that's a dear! You must trust Miss Poppleton, Gipsy. There, there! You'll feel better now you've had a good cry. Wash your face in cold water, and take a run round the garden. It's a good thing it's Saturday!"
Gipsy didn't feel equally confident of Miss Poppleton's benevolence, but she gave Miss Edith a hug, and took her advice. She had not lost faith in her father, only his silence made her fear for his welfare. She was aware of the many dangers of life in the rough mining camps where his work lay, and shuddered as she remembered his tales of attacks by desperadoes, skirmishes with natives, or perils of wild beasts. Almost directly, however, her naturally cheerful and hopeful disposition reasserted itself. She knew letters sometimes miscarried or were lost, or perhaps her father might have been ill and unable to write.
"He'll let me hear about him somehow," she said to herself. "I must just try and be very patient. Dad desert me! Why, the idea's ridiculous. And I've a feeling I'd know if he was dead. No! He's alive somewhere and thinking of me, and it will all come right in the end. His very last words were: 'I'll soon be back to fetch you!' I mustn't let folks at the school think I don't believe in Dad. That would never do! I'll show them how I can trust him!"
True to her intention of vindicating her faith in her father, Gipsy, after the first outburst of tears, took a pride in concealing her feelings, and preserving at least an outward appearance of calm confidence. It certainly needed all her courage to face the situation, for there were several circumstances which rendered it peculiarly trying. Miss Poppleton, with whom she had never been a favourite, snapped at her more frequently than before, and was harder to please as regarded both lessons and conduct. Gipsy often felt she was treated unfairly, and received more than her due share of blame for any little occurrence that cropped up.
A great many small things contributed to make her feel her position. Her morning glass of milk, which all the boarders and some of the day girls took in the pantry at eleven o'clock, was knocked off, as were all concerts and lectures where there was a charge for admission. It was not pleasant, when the other boarders were taken into Greyfield, to have to stay behind for the sake of the price of a ticket and a tram fare. She had long ago spent all her pocket-money, and there was no more forthcoming. Not only was she denied such luxuries as chocolates, but she was not even able to pay her subscription to the Guild, which, by the new arrangement, was due at the beginning of each term. The Committee, who knew the reason and sympathized with her, ignored the matter; but poor Gipsy, as Secretary, felt her deficiency very keenly when she made up the accounts. She was a proud, sensitive girl, and the knowledge that she alone, of the whole Guild, had not rendered her dues to the Treasurer was a bitter humiliation.
It was not in regard to the Guild alone that she was hampered by lack of money. During the spring term the girls at Briarcroft were accustomed to get up a small bazaar in aid of a home for waifs and strays. They were already beginning to work for it, and Gipsy, who would gladly have helped, made the unpleasant discovery that it is impossible to make bricks without straw, or in other words that she had no materials. Each Form generally took a stall, so one afternoon there was a little informal meeting of the Upper Fourth, to discuss what contributions could be relied upon.
"I vote that each girl undertakes to make a certain number of articles; that would be far the easiest, and then we should know how we stand," suggested Alice O'Connor. "We'll draw up a list, and write it down."
"Need we do it quite that way?" said Hetty Hancock. "Wouldn't it be enough if each promises to do what she can?"