Princess Polly's Gay Winter Part 16

Sprite stood watching him as he ran, like the wind across the fields, and even as she looked he turned, paused a moment, and waved his hand to the little waiting figure.

Quickly she lifted hers, and returned his salute.

He stood just a second, waved his hand again, and then plunged into the thicket.

When he entered the old shack that he called "home," he found his mother stirring a steaming ma.s.s that nearly filled the huge iron kettle that stood on the rusty stove.

His small brothers and sisters formed a half circle around her, watching every movement that helped to prepare the dinner. They were all much younger than Gyp, and only one, a girl, was yet of school age.

"They'll be comin' after yer ter make me let ye go ter school same's Gyp," the woman was saying, as the boy opened the door, "but I need ye ter home this Winter ter help me, sure's my name is Gifford."

"_Is_ yer name Gifford?" Gyp asked in surprise.

"Of course 'tis, Gyp. Why d'ye ask? Ain't ye never heard that before?"

she asked, sharply.

"Never heard us folks called anything but gypsies," he replied.

"Well, how could ye? Don't no one never come here," his mother said, with fearful disregard of grammar.

"Then why isn't _my_ name Gifford, too?" he persisted.

"Wal, _'tis_. Ye was named John, John Gifford, but ye couldn't seem ter say that in yer baby days, so ye left off the 'John,' and called, 'Gifford,' 'Gyp,' an' 'Gyp' it has been ever since. Don't they call ye that at school? I told the ol' feller what come ter say ye must 'tend school that that was yer name."

Gyp did not reply.

He thought best to be silent, and picking up one of his books, he studied until dinner was ready.

No time was wasted in serving. A very small low table was dragged to the center of the floor, the kettle was placed upon it, and then, a hungry circle, they swarmed around it.

The soup was very hot, but each was provided with a long slice of bread, and these they dipped into the soup, blowing it for a moment, and then eating it ravenously.

Gyp ate, as the others did. What else could he do? He had caught glimpses, now and then, of a better way of living, and in his heart he thought;

"I will not always live like a gypsy."

His teacher had called him "Gyp" as others did.

The next day, he appeared very early at school, and astonished her by asking shyly if she would call him, by his name, "John."

"Certainly, if you wish it," she said.

"I thought you liked to be called Gyp, and would feel more at home if I called you that."

"That's _just_ it!" he cried, in quick anger, "I _would_ 'feel at home'

with that old name, but I don't want to '_feel at home_.' I'll not _always_ live like a gypsy, and I want a decent name, like other boys!"

"That's _right_, Gyp, no _John_!" she said, and both smiled to see how difficult it was to remember the new name.

"You can be so good and useful that every man, woman and child in Avondale will be forced to respect the name of John Gifford. I will speak of this to the pupils, and now that they all see how hard you are trying to gain knowledge, I think they will be willing to call you by the name that is really yours. Remember this, however. Don't be offended if sometimes we forget, and call you 'Gyp.' It may mean only that we remember the boy who, while still thus addressed, made persistent effort to improve."

There was great excitement one Wednesday morning when dainty invitations were received by all the boys and girls who usually played together, requesting the pleasure of their company two weeks from that night, at the home of John Atherton.

"Festivities to commence at eight," was inscribed in gold letters at the bottom of the page.

"Oh, Rose, I ought not to ask," said Princess Polly, "and I won't ask _what_ the festivities are to be, but I'll ask you if you know?'

"Not the least thing," Rose replied, "and when I asked Uncle John, he only laughed, and said that was his little secret, so we'll have to wait 'til the night of the party to know what he has planned. The only thing that he has told me is that on the night of the party, Sprite is to remain at our house and that will be the first night of her visit with us."

"I know that," Princess Polly said, "because he told papa that the time for Sprite to be with him was close at hand, and papa said that he knew that we had had our share of her visit, but she has been so sweet, so dear, that we'd never be ready to let her go."

"That's just the reason we want her, for truly, Princess Polly, next to you, Sprite is the sweetest girl I know. There's no girl quite so dear as you, Polly, but surely Sprite comes the very next," Rose said.

CHAPTER IX

A JOLLY TIME

Gwen Harcourt felt that in leaving school at Avondale, and entering a small private school in the next town she was really doing something quite fine.

To be sure, the little school was not much of a school. Rather it should have been called a private _cla.s.s_, and the little pupils met at the home of a young woman who was far from well equipped for the task of directing their studies, or training their minds.

She had acquired a fair education, but so little governing power had she that the pupils did about as they chose, and that Gwen considered the most charming fact regarding the cla.s.s.

She thought it very smart to go over to the station, walk up and down the platform waiting for the train, and then, seated in the car, offer her ticket to the conductor when he came down the aisle.

"The Avondale girls and boys just walk to school, but I have to take a train!" she said to herself one morning, as she hurried toward the station.

One might have thought it a _convenience_ to live at a distance from the school. The next town was a mile from Avondale, and Gwen thought it very daring to take the trip alone.

"It makes me sick to listen when Gwen Harcourt is talking about going to school," said Rob. "She thinks it a great thing to ride a mile! If she had to ride twenty-five miles, she'd feel so big that Avondale would not be big enough to hold her."

Rob Lindsey had met Gwen near the station, and she had looked at him as sharply as if she had not seen him for a year.

"Do you _still_ go to school at Avondale?" she asked.

"Why, yes," Rob said. "Did you think we commenced to stay at home when _you_ left?"

"Well, I wouldn't go back there for anything!" declared Gwen. "My mamma calls me a very wonderful child, and when she told my new teacher that, she said to mamma; 'I know she's an unusual child. I can see that at a glance.'"

"Perhaps she'd call _me_ wonderful if I engaged her to do so. I might tell her to just look at me and say if she'd give me a prize."