GYP'S AMBITION
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.