"If he did"—exclaimed Gipsy, springing up with flashing eyes.
"Well, and if he did, what would you do?"
"Why, I'd defy him to his face, and then I'd run off, and go to sea, and make my fortune, and come back, and marry you—no, I couldn't do that, but I'd marry Archie. Lor! I'd get along splendidly."
"Oh, Gipsy! Gipsy! rightly named Gipsy! how little you know what it is to be friendless in the world, you poor little fairy you! Now, child, be quiet, and talk sensibly to me for a few minutes."
"Oh, bother, aunty! I can't be quiet; and as to talking sensibly, why I rather think I am doing that just now. There, now—now do, please, bottle up that lecture you've got for me, and it'll keep, for I'm off!" And darting past them, she ran down stairs, through the long hall, and was flying toward the stables in a twinkling.
On her way she met our old friend, Jupiter.
"Hallo, Jupe! Oh, there you are! Go and saddle Mignonne 'mediately. I want him; quick, now!"
"Why, Miss Roarer, honey, I'se sorry for ter diserblige yer, chile, but ole mas'r he tole me not to let yer get Minnin to-day," said Jupiter, looking rather uneasily at the dark, wild, little face, and large, lustrous eyes, in which a storm was fast brewing.
"Do you mean to say he told you not to let me have my pony?" she said, or rather hissed, through her tightly-clenched teeth.
"Jes' so, Miss Roarer; he tell me so not ten minutes ago."