So Tess
snapped off a peach-tree switch and, finally cornering the pony,
proceeded to use it. Missy pleaded, but Tess stood firm for
discipline. However Gypsy revenged herself; for two hours she
wouldn't let Tess come near her--she'd sidle up and lay her velvet
nose against Missy's shoulder until Tess was within an arm's length,
and then, tossing her head spitefully, caper away.
No wonder the girls ejaculated at her smartness.
Finally she turned gentle as a lamb, soft as silk, and let Tess
adjust the saddle; but scarcely had Tess ridden a block before--
wrench!--something happened to the saddle, and Tess was left seated
by the roadside while Gypsy vanished in a cloud of dust. The imp had
deliberately swelled herself out so that the girth would be loose!
Every day brought new revelations of Gypsy's intelligence. Missy
took to spending every spare minute at Tess's. Under this new
captivation her own pet, Poppy, was thoughtlessly neglected. And
duties such as practicing, dusting and darning were deliberately
shirked. Even reading had lost much of its wonted charm: the
haunting, soul-swelling rhythms of poetry, or the oddly phrased
medieval romances which somehow carried you back through the
centuries--into the very presence of those queenly heroines who
trail their robes down the golden stairways of legend.
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