“The tent will be dry enough,” put in Tom, bringing in his forces like a good soldier, now he was fairly enlisted.
“But if you catch cold and get sick, my dear; Tom won’t want to cut short his excursion to bring you home.”
“There’s Mr. Fisher, right on top of the mountain; he’d bring me in his wagon. Besides, I wouldn’t be silly enough to get sick.”
“But Sarah might.”
“Sarah does as I tell her,” said Gypsy, significantly. “I should take care of her.”
“But Mrs. Rowe may not be willing Sarah should go, and Mr. Guy Hallam must be asked, Gypsy.”
“Well, but——,” persisted Gypsy; “if Mrs. Rowe and Mr. Hallam and everybody are willing, may I go?”
“Well,” said Mrs. Breynton, after a few minutes’ thinking, “I guess so; if Tom will take good care of you; and if you will promise to go to Mr. Fisher’s the rainy nights—I mean if it rains hard.”
“Oh, mother, mother Breynton! There never was such a dear little woman in this world!”
“Why, my dear!” said Mr. Breynton, when he heard of it; “how can you let the child do such a thing? She will fall off the precipice, or walk right into a bear’s den, the first thing.”