THE END OF THE WEEK
Gypsy threw down the gun, and threw up her hands with a curious quick
motion, like one in suffocation, who was trying to find a voice; but she
did not utter a sound.
There was an instant's awful stillness. In that instant, it seemed to
Gypsy as if she had lived a great many years; in that instant, even
Sarah's frightened cries were frozen.
Then the bushes parted, and some one sprang through. Gypsy knew the face
all blackened and marred with powder--the face dearer to her than any on
earth but her mother's. So she had not killed him--thank God, thank God!
"Gypsy, child!" called the dear, familiar voice; "what ails you? You
haven't hurt me, but why in the name of all danger on this earth did you
touch----"
But Tom stopped short; for Gypsy tottered up to him with such a white,
weak look on her face, that he thought the rebound of the gun must have
injured her, and caught her in his arms.
"You're not going to faint! Where are you hurt?"
But Gypsy was not hurt, and Gypsy never fainted. She just put her arms
about his neck and hid her face close upon his shoulder, and cried as if
her heart would break.
It was a long time before she spoke,--only kissing him and clinging to him
through her sobs,--then, at last,--
"Oh, Tom, I thought I had killed you--I thought--and I loved you so--oh,
Tom!"
Tom choked a little, and sat down on the ground, holding her in his lap.
"Why, my little Gypsy!"
Just then footsteps came crashing through the underbrush, and Mr. Hallam
ran hurriedly up.
"Oh, you've found them! Where were they? What has happened to Gypsy?"
"Let me go," sobbed Gypsy; "I can't talk just now. I want to go away and
cry."
She broke away from Tom's arms, and into the tent, where she could be
alone.
"What has happened?" repeated Mr. Hallam. "We came home in less than an
hour, and couldn't find you. We have been to Mr. Fisher's, and hunted
everywhere. I was calling for you in the gorge when Tom found you."
Sarah was left to tell their story; which she did with remarkable
justness, considering how frightened she was. She shared with Gypsy the
blame of having left the tents, and insisted that it was her fault that
the gun went off. Before the account was quite finished, Gypsy called Tom
from the tent-door, and he went to her.
She was quiet, and very pale,
"Oh, Tom, I am so sorry! I didn't think I should be gone so long."
"It was very dangerous, Gypsy. You might have been lost, or you might have
had to spend the night here alone, while we were hunting for you."
"I know it, I know it; and Sarah was so frightened, and I was too, a
little, and Sarah thought you were a bear."
"I have told you a great many times that it is _never_ safe for you to
touch my gun," said Tom, gravely. He felt that Gypsy's carelessness might
have brought about too terrible consequences, both to herself and to him,
to be passed by lightly; and he had an idea that, as long as her mother
was not there to tell her so, he must.
But Gypsy dropped her head, and looked so humble and wretched, that he had
not the heart to say any more.
Gypsy was sure all the pleasure of her camping-out was utterly spoiled;
but there was a bright sun the next morning, and Tom was so kind and
pleasant, and the birds were singing, and the world didn't look at all as
if she had nearly killed her brother twelve hours before, so she found she
was laughing in spite of herself, and two very happy days passed after
that. Mr. Hallam made a rule that he or Tom should keep the girls
constantly in sight, and that, during the time spent in excursions which
they could not join, they should remain in Mr. Fisher's house. He said it
was too wild a place for them to be alone in for any length of time, and
he was sorry he left them before.
Gypsy did not resent this strict tutelage. She was very humble and
obedient and careful as long as they stayed upon the mountain. Those few
moments, when she clung sobbing to Tom's neck, were a lesson to her. She
will not forget them as long as she lives.
At the end of the fourth day, just at supper time, a dark cloud sailed
over the sky, and a faint wind blew from the east.
"I wonder if it's going to rain," said Mr. Hallam. They all looked up.
Gypsy said nothing; in her secret heart, she hoped it would.
"What about sending the girls to Mrs. Fisher's?" asked Tom, when they were
washing the dishes.
"Oh, no, no, it won't rain, I know--let us stay, Mr. Hallam, please. Why,
I should feel like a deserter if I went off!" pleaded Gypsy.
The dark cloud seemed to have passed away, and the wind was still. After
thinking a while, Mr. Hallam decided to let them stay.
In the middle of the night, Gypsy was awakened by a great noise. The wind
was blowing a miniature hurricane through the trees, and the rain was
falling in torrents. She could hear it spatter on the canvas roof, and
drop from the poles, and gurgle in a stream through the ditch. She could
hear, too, the loud, angry murmur of the trout brook and the splashing of
hundreds of rivulets that dashed down the slope and over the gorge into
it.
She gave Sarah a little pinch, and woke her up.
"Oh, Sarah, it's come! It's raining like everything, and here we are, and
we can't get to Mr. Fisher's--isn't it splendid?"
"Ye-es," said Sarah; "it's very splendid, only isn't it a little--wet?
It's dropping right on my cheek."
"Oh, that's nothing--why, here I can put my hand right down into a puddle
of water. It's just like being at sea."
"I know it. Are people at sea always so--cold?"
"Why, I'm not cold. Only we might as well wear our water-proofs. The
leaves _are_ a little damp."
So they put on their tweed cloaks, and Gypsy listened to the wind, and
thought it was very poetic and romantic, and that she was perfectly happy.
And just as she had lain down again there came a great gust of rain, and
one of the rivulets that were sweeping down the mountain splashed in under
the canvas, and ran right through the middle of the tent like a brook.
Sarah jumped up with energy.
"O--oh, it's gone right over my feet!"
"My shoes are sailing away, as true as you live!" cried Gypsy, and sprang
just in time to save them.
The dinner-basket and a tin pail were fast following, when Tom appeared
upon the scene, and called through the wall of shawls,--
"Girls, you'll have to go to Mrs. Fisher's. Be quick as you can!"
"I don't want to a bit," said Gypsy, who was sitting in a pool of water.
"Well, I'm going," announced Sarah, with unheard-of decision. "Camping out
is very nice, but drowning is another thing."
"Well--I--suppose it _would_ be a--little--dryer," said Gypsy, slowly.
The girls were soon dressed, and Tom lighted a lantern and went with them.
A few peals of thunder growled sullenly down the valley, and one bright
flash of lightning glared far through the forest. Sarah was afraid she
should be struck. Gypsy was thinking how grand it was, and wished she
could be out in a midnight storm every week.
It was after midnight, and every one at Mr. Fisher's was asleep; but Tom
knocked them up, and Mr. Fisher was very much amused, and Mrs. Fisher was
very kind and hospitable, and built up a fire, and said they should be
perfectly dry and warm before they went to bed.
So the girls bade Tom good-night, and he went back to Mr. Hallam, and
they, feeling very cold and sleepy and drenched, were glad enough to be
taken care of, and put to bed like babies, after Mrs. Fisher's good,
motherly fashion.
"Sarah," said Gypsy, sleepily, just as Sarah was beginning to dream. "A
feather-bed, and--and _pil_lows! (with a little jump to keep awake long
enough to finish her sentence) are a little better--on the whole--than a
mud--pud----"
Just there she went to sleep. The next day it poured from morning till
night. That was just what Mr. Hallam and Tom liked, so they fished all
day, and the girls amused themselves as best they might in Mr. Fisher's
barn. The day after it rained in snatches, and the sun shone in little
spasms between. A council of exigencies met in Mr. Hallam's tent, and it
was unanimously decided to go home. Even Gypsy began to long for civilized
life, though she declared that she had never in all her life had such a
good time as she had had that week.
So Mr. Fisher harnessed and drove them briskly down the mountain, and
"from afar off" Gypsy saw her mother's face, watching for her at the
door--a little anxious; very glad to see her back.