I
LittleGyp，agednearlyfourandahalfthatfirstofMay，stoodattheedgeofthetulipborder，bowingtotwohenturkeyswhowerepokingtheirheadselegantlyhereandthereamongtheflowers。Shewasabsurdlylikehermother，thesameoval-shapedface，darkarchedbrows，largeandclearbrowneyes；butshehadthemodernchild’sopen-airlook；herhair，thatcurledoverattheends，wasnotallowedtobelong，andherpolishedbrownlegswerebaretotheknees。”Turkeys！Youaren’tgood，areyou？ComeON！”And，stretchingoutherhandswiththepalmsheldup，shebackedawayfromthetulip-bed。Theturkeys，trailingdelicatelytheirlong-toedfeetandutteringsoft，liquidinterrogations，movedafterherinhopesofwhatshewasnotholdinginherlittlebrownhands。Thesun，downinthewest，foritwaspasttea-time，slantedfromovertheroofoftheredhouse，andpaintedupthatsmallprocession——thedeepbluefrockoflittleGyp，theglintofgoldinthechestnutofherhair；thedaisy-starredgrass；thedarkbirdswithtranslucentreddewlaps，andcheckeredtailsandthetulipbackground，puceandredandyellow。Whenshehadluredthemtotheopengate，littleGypraisedherself，andsaid:”Aren’tyouduffies，dears？Shoo！”Andonthetailsoftheturkeyssheshutthegate。Thenshewenttowhere，underthewalnut-tree——theonelargetreeofthatwalledgarden——averyoldScotchterrierwaslying，andsittingdownbesidehim，beganstrokinghiswhitemuzzle，saying:”Ossy，Ossy，doyouloveme？”
Presently，seeinghermotherintheporch，shejumpedup，andcryingout:”Ossy——Ossy！Walk！”rushedtoGypandembracedherlegs，whiletheoldScotchterrierslowlyfollowed。
Thusheldprisoner，Gypwatchedthedog’sapproach。Nearlythreeyearshadchangedheralittle。Herfacewassofter，andrathermoregrave，herformalittlefuller，herhair，ifanything，darker，anddonedifferently——insteadofwavinginwingsandbeingcoiledupbehind，itwassmoothlygatheredroundinasoftandlustroushelmet，bywhichfashiontheshapeofherheadwasbetterrevealed。”Darling，goandaskPettancetoputafreshpieceofsulphurinOssy’swater-bowl，andtocutuphismeatfiner。YoucangiveHotspurandBrownietwolumpsofsugareach；andthenwe’llgoout。”Goingdownonherkneesintheporch，shepartedtheolddog’shair，andexaminedhiseczema，thinking:”Imustrubsomemoreofthatstuffinto-night。Oh，ducky，you’renotsmellingyourbest！Yes；only——notmyface！”
Atelegraph-boywascomingfromthegate。GypopenedthemissivewiththefainttremorshealwaysfeltwhenSummerhaywasnotwithher。