Princess Polly's Gay Winter Part 15

"You said Wednesday and Sat.u.r.day, 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 cla.s.s higher, he held his head high, and bravely worked at his lessons. Aunt Judith stood by him, and Wednesday and Sat.u.r.day evenings, rain or s.h.i.+ne, 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 sh.o.r.e, without the little daughter, whose face was like suns.h.i.+ne, 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 s.p.a.ce, 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 superst.i.tion 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.