"You do! Well, isn't that funny? I was just thinking how much I loved you. Besides, I'm real glad you're going to live here always."
"Why, I thought you'd be sorry."
"I should have once," said Gypsy honestly. "But that's because I was ugly. I don't think I could get along without you possibly—no, not anyway in the world. Just think how long we've slept together, and what 'gales' we do get into when our lamp goes out and we can't find the matches! You see I never had anybody to get into gales with before."
Somebody rang the door-bell just then, and the conversation was broken up.
"Joy, have you a mind to go?" asked Mrs. Breynton. "Patty is out, this evening."
"Why! whoever it is, they've come right in," said Joy, opening the door.
A man was there in the entry;—a man with heavy whiskers and a valise.
The rest of them sitting back there in the dark waited, wondering a little who it could be coming in Sunday night. And this is what they heard:
"Joyce, little Joyce!—why, don't be frightened, child; it's nobody but father."