Gyp sauntered along on the way to school, a thoughtful expression making his face less reckless than usual.

"Looks 's if 'twould pay ter be decent," he said, half aloud.

He was very quiet, and the teacher questioned if he were planning mischief. The little pupils watched him, and wondered when his restlessness would begin.

His teacher wondered, too, but Gyp kept his eyes on his book, and appeared not to know that he was being watched.

For the first time since he had been forced to attend school, he had a perfect spelling lesson.

He stumbled over every long word in the reading lesson, however, and the problems in arithmetic puzzled him completely.

If the arithmetic had seemed easier he might not have appealed so promptly to Aunt Judith for aid, but the young teacher was unable to make it clear to him, and when evening came, he raced across the fields, his book under his arm, and tapped at her door.

"Ah, you've come, Gyp!" she said, smiling at him encouragingly, "I hoped you would."

"You said Wednesday and Saturday, an' this is only Tuesday, but I can't get my lesson for termorrer 'less someone helps me," he said.

"There is no reason why you may not stay to-night," Aunt Judith said, kindly, "and now tell me what it was that made the arithmetic so hard today."

"She asked me if I had ten pears, and I wanted to keep one for myself, and divide the others between two of my friends, how many would I give each, and I told her I'd keep more than one for myself, and I didn't know two anybodies I'd want to give the others to, and then they all laughed. I don't see why."

Aunt Judith was trying not to laugh as heartily as the little pupils whose merriment had so annoyed Gyp.

"And the next thing she asked was about dividing pears, too. Don't folks divide anything but pears? They don't in the arithmetic!"

"Oh, Gyp, Gyp!" cried Aunt Judith, and the puzzled boy laughed with her, because he could not help it.

He did not mind her laughter. Indeed, he already felt better acquainted with her, because they had laughed together. The laughter of the little pupils had maddened him, but that was different.

"They laughed at me, but you laugh with me," he said, with quick understanding.

"And I'll work with you, Gyp," was the pleasant answer, and the boy at once opened his book.

When Gyp took his cap and started for home, after two hours spent at the cottage, he had a better understanding of figures, and their use, and the actual worth of arithmetic, than he had obtained, thus far, in his daily attendance at school.

"Why, Gyp," Aunt Judith had said, in reply to his statement that he "didn't see any use for arithmetic," "you mustn't grow to manhood with no knowledge of arithmetic, or knowledge of figures, or how to reckon. When you go to work you will need this knowledge. There are few things that you can do that will not be easier, or better done, and perhaps be better paid for if you are 'quick at figures.' You must not always live like a gypsy. You must learn all you can while you are at school, and then you must work, and earn, and try to be a good, and useful man. You can, I know, if you try."

Gyp thought of Aunt Judith's words as he lay on his rude bed that night.

"She said I needn't always live like a gypsy," he murmured. "She said
I could learn, and then some time I could earn."

He lay a long time, wide awake, repeating Aunt Judith's words of cheer, and each time that he whispered them, he grew braver, and more determined.

"They've always said, 'Oh, he's only a gypsy,' but I'll learn, and I'll earn, and I'll do something. I don't know what, but I'll do something, see 'f I don't!"

There was no one to dispute his statement, and he dropped to sleep, and dreamed of doing great deeds.

Ever since he could remember, he had heard the boys of Avondale speak as if he were a gypsy, and as if that fact explained every bit of mischief that he did. He had always felt that, being a gypsy, there was no chance for him in any walk of life, and that, therefore, there was simply no use to try.

Now a new light had dawned, and with it came hope, cheer, determination, to succeed.

"I'll do it," he murmured in his sleep.

* * * * * * * *

Soon it was whispered that Gyp was working hard at school for promotion, and when he took his place in a class higher, he held his head high, and bravely worked at his lessons. Aunt Judith stood by him, and Wednesday and Saturday evenings, rain or shine, he spent at her little home, working with all his might to improve.

In the middle of the term, because of extra work that he had done under her instruction, he was again promoted.

He was steadily "catching up" with the boys of his own age. Those boys had now ceased to laugh at Gyp. He was winning their respect.

Sprite Seaford was another pupil who was working faithfully. She knew that her dear father and mother had made a great sacrifice when they had decided to live through the Fall, the Winter and, the Spring in the old house on the shore, without the little daughter, whose face was like sunshine, whose voice was music in the home.

There were times when Sprite was homesick, but those were the rare occasions when she chanced to be alone. Just now she was very happy. The weather was mild. All snow had vanished beneath the warm rays of the sun, and she ran out to know if it were really as warm as it looked. The tall evergreen trees and hedges shone dark against the sky, and Sprite stood looking at them. She had taken part in a little play on the week before, and some of the lines now flitted through her mind, and she lifted her pretty arms in graceful gesture. With the dark trees and low shrubbery behind her, she recited the lines with appropriate gesture, and telling effect.

Six small girls had taken part in the little play, and each had been chosen by Miss Kenyon, because of her talent for speaking. Sprite, with her long, golden hair, and her slender figure, had been cast for the fairy queen, whose delight it was to grant the wishes of all good children.

Now she stepped out into an open space, the beautiful garden making a lovely background for her figure. Gracefully she stood as she recited a verse that had been a part of the fairy play.

"If you're striving to excel,
And your very best you do,
You shall be rewarded well;
I will make your wish come true."

A dark figure crouched behind a clump of underbrush that the gardener had thought too pretty to cut down.

Through snow and ice the red leaves had clung to the little scrub oak, and now that a mild day had come, the leaves looked very bright as the sun lay on them.

The figure hiding there was Gyp, and his eyes grew brighter as he heard the little verse.

He stirred uneasily.

Sprite, believing herself to be alone, repeated the verse with even greater spirit than before, and as she spoke the last line, Gyp sprang to his feet.

"I will make your wish come true," said Sprite, whereat Gyp sprang from his hiding-place, crying:

"Oh, will yer? Will yer? Are ye a fairy? Kin yer grant my wish?"

All the superstition of his race showed in his eager face.

Sprite seemed neither afraid nor startled, nor was she annoyed at the interruption. For, a second she looked in gentle surprise at the boy's dark, eager face.

Then a look of pity made her eyes very soft.

"Oh, Gyp!" she cried, "what is the wish you want granted? I'm not a fairy, so of course I can't grant it, but,—Oh, Gyp! I'm awfully sorry. Tell me what the wish is! Sometimes it helps to tell."

Pityingly, and more like a little woman than like the child that she was, she spoke to comfort him.

For a moment he felt abashed that he had so plainly shown the longing in his heart, then as she asked again, he cried:

"I want to be someone. I want a chance to be something besides
Gyp, the gypsy boy."

"Oh, then that's almost granted now!" she cried in quick relief, "because I heard the teacher say, the other day:

"'That boy will get there! That boy will be someone worth while, and
I mean to help him.'"

"Did she say that?" cried Gyp, his eyes showing how little he dreamed that the work that he was doing was being noticed.

"She truly did," said Sprite, "so while I couldn't grant your wish,
I could tell you that it would come true, and I'm glad of that."

"So'm I," agreed Gyp, "but don't yer tell any of the others that I thought yer was a fairy, will yer?"

She promised faithfully, and when he had thanked her for what she had told him, and for the promise that she had just made, he turned and, as usual, ran off to the woods.

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 mass 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.