“What do you think of her?” asked Gypsy, a little puzzled by her mother’s expression.
“She is a good deal of a scold, and something of a sufferer,” said Mrs. Breynton. Gypsy’s face fell, and they walked up to the house in silence.
“Then you’re not going to do anything for her?” asked Gypsy, at length, in a disappointed tone.
“Oh, yes. She needs help. She can’t be moved to the poor-house now, and, besides, is likely to get well before long, if she is properly taken care of. I gave her her supper, and have arranged with one or two of the ladies to send her meals for a few days, till we see how she is, and what had better be done. I take care of her to-morrow, and Mrs. Rowe takes her the next day.”
“Good!” said Gypsy, brightening; “and I may take her down the things, mayn’t I, mother?”
“If you want to.”
Gypsy went to bed as happy as a queen.
The next morning she rose early, to be sure to be in time to take Mrs. Littlejohn’s breakfast; and was disappointed enough, when her mother thought it best she should wait till she had eaten her own. However, on the strength of the remembrance of her mother’s tried and proved wisdom, on certain other little occasions, she submitted with a good grace.
She carried Mrs. Littlejohn a very good breakfast of griddle-cakes and fish-balls and sweet white bread, and was somewhat taken aback to find that the old woman received it rather curtly, and asked after the salmon.
It was very warm at noon. When she carried the dinner, the walk was long and wearisome, and Mrs. Littlejohn neglected to call her an angel of mercy, and it must be confessed Gypsy’s enthusiasm diminished perceptibly.