CHAPTER VIII.
THE GIPSIES ON THE COMMON.
Tom stared at Una in surprise.
"Well, you are a funny girl," he said, rather gruffly. "I thought you'd be pleased; it's not often you catch me telling a girl a secret."
Una bent down and began to pick up some of the fallen parcels. She was sorry that she had offended Tom, for it was not often that he condescended to play with or talk to her, and she had felt rather proud when he had asked her to help him that afternoon.
"I thought all girls liked secrets," went on the boy. "You're not a bit like Norah. Why, she'd give anything to know my secret this afternoon."
"Would she? How funny!" said Una, genuinely surprised. "I think secrets are horrid."
"Secrets horrid? Why, they're lovely!" said Tom. "When Barnes—he's our gardener, you know—says he has got a secret to tell me, I know that Bruno has puppies, or that the peaches are ripe and he's going to give me a basketful to take to mother; or he's found a wild bees' nest in the wood and he wants me to help him to dig the honeycomb out; or—or—oh, I can't think of any more now, but secrets are always jolly."
"No, they are not—not quite always," said Una gravely. "But is yours a jolly one, Tom?"
"Yes," said Tom, "awfully!"