That night at supper Susan looked round the pleasant, well-lighted room, with its table spread with good things to eat. She thought of the tent in the woods, the trees standing tall and black about it, and the near-by brook gurgling over its stones without a pause. It seemed dark and dreary and lonely, and with a little shudder Susan bent down and whispered to Snuff:
“I wouldn’t have us be gypsies, Snuff, for anything in the world.”
And when she went to bed, she astonished Grandmother by saying in the midst of her prayers:
“Thank you, God, for not making Grandmother a gypsy, because then I wouldn’t have any apple sauce for my supper.”
Susan and Gentilla were at play in the garden, walking Indian fashion up one path and down the other between the rows of summer vegetables. The little girls held their arms outstretched to keep their balance, and, now and then, with shrill little screams, one or the other would almost, but not quite, topple over.
Occasionally Gentilla, unsteady on her feet, made a misstep among the beets and peas, and once she sat down upon a cabbage. But, as she was as light as a feather, it certainly did the cabbage no harm, and perhaps a great deal of good for all we know to the contrary.
“Gentilla,” said Susan, struck with a happy thought, “let’s go play on the schoolhouse steps.”
“Yes, let’s,” said Gentilla agreeably. She did not know where the schoolhouse steps were, but she would have gone as willingly to the North Pole if Susan had suggested it.
She and Susan had become warm friends. Gentilla spent almost every day at the house on Featherbed Lane, and Grandmother and Grandfather and even Miss Liza had grown fond of the little gypsy girl because of her happy disposition and loving little ways. Gentilla was not a great talker, but she made smiles and a dimple and funny little bobs of her head take the place of speech. She liked to steal up behind you and place a kiss as soft as thistledown in the palm of your hand. She rubbed gently up against one as a little kitten would, and by her pats and what Susan called “smoothings” told you how much she loved you without a single word.
“She is a good child,” said Grandmother. “I can hardly believe that she is a real gypsy child. She doesn’t seem like one to me.”