school, and she's eating her heart out at finding herself in this queer position. She's neither exactly a pupil, nor a teacher, nor a monitress, nor anything: indeed, Poppie treats her more as a servant; sometimes she absolutely wipes her boots on her! Gipsy's like a princess sold into slavery! She's taking it hardly, but she won't let it crush her spirit. I think she feels so sore, she can't even bear our sympathy."
"I wish we could do something," groaned Hetty.
"Nothing would be of any use, unless you could find her father. I'm afraid, myself, he must be dead."
"She's fighting a battle against fearful odds," said Hetty, shaking her head. "She's keeping her self-respect when most girls would have given way utterly. I suppose there's nothing to be done but just look on and admire her pluck. I should like to speak my mind to Poppie sometimes!"
"You'd do Gipsy no good, I'm afraid."
"I wonder Miss Edith doesn't stand up more for her."
"Miss Edith! She's a jellyfish—a crushed worm—a mere serf and vassal! She's frightened to death of her sister, in my opinion, and hardly dare call her soul her own. She'd be nice enough to Gipsy if Poppie'd let her."
"Look here! I hope Gipsy's going to the Fourth Form picnic next week."
"Gracious! So do I. I hadn't thought of it. She never does go to anything now that needs paying for. Oh, but she must! We can't have her left out of it. Let's beard Poppie boldly in her den, offer to pay Gipsy's share in private, and beg for her to come."
