“Oh, dear!” gasped Gypsy; “it’s too funny for anything! If here isn’t the carving-knife we scolded Patty for losing last winter, and—Oh, Tom, just look here!—my stick of peanut candy, that I thought I’d eaten up, all stuck on to my lace under-sleeves!”
It was past Gypsy’s bed-time when the upper drawer was fairly in order and put back in its place. Three others remained to go through the same process, as well as wardrobe shelves innumerable. Gypsy, with her characteristic impulsiveness, would have sat up till twelve o’clock to complete the work, but her mother said “No” very decidedly, and so it must wait till to-morrow.
Tom came in just as everything was done, and Gypsy had drawn a long breath and stood up to look, with great satisfaction, all around her pleasant, orderly room.
“Well done! I say, Gypsy, what a jewel you are when you’re a mind to be.”
“Of course, I am. Have you just found it out?”
“Well, you know you’re a diamond, decidedly in the rough, as a general thing. You need cutting down and polishing.”
“And you to polish me? Well, I like the looks of this room, anyhow. It is nice to have things somewhere where you won’t trip over them when you walk across the room—only if somebody else would pick ’em up for me.”
“How long do you suppose it will last?” asked Tom, with an air of great superiority.
“Tom,” said Gypsy, solemnly; “that’s a serious question.”
“It might last forever if you have a mind to have it,—come now, Gyp., why not?”