“I think I will walk home with you,” said her father. “There isn’t much going on Saturday afternoons. Simms, you can lock up when you go home to supper. I hope you haven’t been giving your mother any trouble, or thrown your ball into Mrs. Surly’s windows again,” he added, nervously, as they passed out of the door and up the street together.
“No, sir,” said Gypsy, faintly; “it’s worse than that.”
Mr. Breynton heaved a sigh, but said nothing.
“I know you think I’m always up to mischief, and I don’t suppose I’ll ever learn to be a lady and know how not to break things, and I’m so sorry, but I didn’t suppose there was any harm in jumping off an apple-tree, and the water-nymph went over and perhaps if you sent me to school or something I’d learn better where they tie you down to a great board,” said Gypsy, talking very fast, and quite forgetting her punctuation.
“The water-nymph!” echoed Mr. Breynton.
“Yes,” said Gypsy, dolefully; “right over, head-first—into the pond—broken to smash!”
“Oh, Gypsy! that is too bad.”
“I know it,” interrupted Gypsy; “I know it was terribly careless—terribly. Did you ever know anything so exactly like me? The worst of it is, being sorry doesn’t help the matter. I wish I could buy you another. Won’t you please to take my five dollars, and I’ll earn some more picking berries.”
“I don’t want your money, my child,” said Mr. Breynton, looking troubled and puzzled. “I’m sorry the nymph is gone; but somehow you do seem to be different from other girls. I didn’t know young ladies ever jumped.”
Gypsy was silent. Her father and mother seemed to think differently about these things. To her view, and she felt sure, to her mother’s, the fault lay in the carelessness of not finding out whether the image was in her way. She could not see that she was doing anything wrong in going out alone into an apple-tree, and springing from a low bough, upon the soft grass. Very likely, when she was a grown-up young lady, with long dresses and hair done up behind, she shouldn’t care anything about climbing trees. But that was another question. However, she had too much respect for her father to say this. So she hung her head, feeling very humble and sorry, and wondering if Mr. Simms couldn’t plaster the nymph together somehow, he was always so ready to do things for her.