CHAPTER VI—THE GYPSIESSusan sneezed twice, coughed, and looked about her.She stood in a tent, round like a circus tent, and the air was heavy with smoke from a fire smouldering on the ground. There were no doors or windows in the tent, and but little light entered on this dark afternoon through a half-dozen rents in the roof.But Susan made out in the gloom not only the man and boy who had brought her there, but a plump, dark woman, with gold hoops in her ears, who was gently wiping the rain from Phil’s face, three or four ragged children dressed in bright reds and yellows, staring intently at her with big black eyes, and a dog or two, discreetly lurking in the dim background.Susan sneezed again, and the woman turned from Phil and spoke.“It’s the smoke, dearie,” said she kindly. “You’ll be used to it in a moment. Tell your little brother not to be afraid. He is among friends. We wouldn’t hurt a hair of your heads. Tell him that.”“I want to go home,” said Phil, with under lip thrust out. “I want to go home.”“And so you shall,” said the woman briskly, “as soon as it stops raining a bit, and my man can find out where you live.”“Straight up the hill,” said Susan quickly. She, too, was eager to be at home. “I saw you at my gate,” she added shyly, to the man. “My grandfather said ‘Sarishan’ to you.”Susan knew the brown velveteen coat, though the red tie was hidden under the upturned collar.The man looked at her a moment, and then he smiled.“True enough,” said he. “I remember. I’ll take you home. I’ll harness the ‘gry’ and take them in the van,” said he to his wife. “It’s still raining hard. They shall know that the gypsies are good to deal with, and that the worst of them is not James Lee.”And, whistling his gay little tune, Mr. James Lee lifted the tent flap and went out again into the rain which still pattered musically on the canvas roof.Susan began to enjoy herself. Now that she knew she was going home shortly, she looked about her with fresh pleasure.“It would be fun to live in a tent,” she thought,—“so different from home. No beds, no chairs, no table. The gypsies must eat sitting on the ground, and sleep, perhaps, on that great heap in the corner.”That it was not very clean, and was very, very crowded, smoky and dark did not enter Susan’s mind.She smiled at the children still staring silently at her. Besides the big boy who, with back turned, seemed busy in the corner, there were three little girls, two of whom, with coarse black hair and bold eyes, smiled back at Susan and then fell to giggling and poking one another. One of them darted forward and jerked at Susan’s scarlet hair-ribbon. The other stole slyly behind her and twitched her dress. They were mischievous, trixy children, and Susan felt uneasy with them. She was relieved when their mother, seeing the rough play, exclaimed, “Clear out, you young ones,” and drove them away.The third little girl, who was scarcely more than a baby, remained in her place, staring solemnly at Susan. She did not look like the other children; indeed, she did not look like a gypsy at all. She was a slender little creature with pale brown hair, large gray eyes, and a tiny hooked nose that gave a strange air of determination to her baby face. She held something behind her back, and suddenly she stepped forward and showed it to Susan.It was the lost squash baby!Susan knew it instantly. It had even the bit of blue rag tied about its neck.“Why, it’s my squash baby!” said she, in surprise.“Yours, is it?” said Mrs. Lee, coming forward. “My man picked it up in the road and gave it to Gentilla. Give it back, Gentilla. The little miss wants it.”“No, no, I don’t want it,” said Susan hastily. “Let her keep it. Is her name Gentilla? She is a nice little girl.”“Gentilla Lee, a good gypsy name,” returned Mrs. Lee. “She is an orphan. She is my husband’s brother’s child. You might think I had enough to do with three children of my own. But no, I must have one more.” And Mrs. Lee lifted the tent flap and moodily looked out into the still falling rain.Susan smiled at Gentilla, who looked soberly back and then moved closer to Susan’s side and began stroking the visitor’s dress with a tiny hand that was far from clean. Suddenly she slipped her hand in Susan’s, and, swinging round on it, smiled up into her face.It seemed a good beginning of a friendship, and Susan was sorry when Mrs. Lee turned round in the doorway and said:“Here comes my man with the van. You will be home in no time now.”Through the woods stepped Mr. James Lee leading a bony gray horse, which was drawing a gypsy van, gay with bright red and green and black paint. He opened the door in the back of the van and helped the children in.“My pail,” said Phil, clutching his slippers. “I’ve lost my pail.”Mrs. Lee disappeared into the tent, and came out in a moment with Phil’s pail—empty! No wonder the big boy, busy eating Phil’s berries, had turned his back in the corner of the tent.“Don’t cry, Phil. You shall have half my berries. Don’t cry. We’re going home.” And Susan waved vigorous good-byes to Mrs. Lee and Gentilla, held back by her aunt from following Susan into the van.Mr. Lee carefully led his horse through the woods to the muddy road, and then, sitting up in front, drove his old “gry” up the hill toward Featherbed Lane.In the meantime Susan and Phil were looking round the van in surprise and delight.“It’s like a little playhouse,” said Susan, squeezing Phil’s hand. “Oh, I wish I lived in a gypsy van all the time.”Opposite the door, in the very front of the van, were two beds, one above the other like berths on a ship, and broad enough, each one, to hold three or four gypsy children at once, if need be, and as, in fact, they very often did. There was a little cookstove, whose pipe wandered out of the side of the van in a most unusual way. And alongside the stove was a table, hanging by hinges from the wall. A high chest of drawers and two chairs completed the furniture of the van, which looked very much like a state-room and felt somewhat like one, too, as it swayed over the hillocks and ruts in the road.Up Featherbed Lane bounced the van, and there on the porch stood Grandmother and Miss Liza, both with white cheeks and anxious faces, while Grandfather came hurrying from the barn where he had been harnessing old Nero with a speed that quite upset the dignity of that staid Roman-nosed beast.“Where were you, children?” cried Miss Liza in greeting, twisting the corner of her apron as she spoke. “I ran up here in all that downpour, and I didn’t see a sign of you on the way.”“My berries are gone,” called Phil. “The big boy ate them. And I was afraid. And we were inside a tent.”“They are gypsies,” said Susan in a low voice to Grandmother, who was carefully feeling her all over. “They live in a tent. And, inside, that van is just like a doll’s house. Their name is Lee. I wish I lived in a van; it’s better than a tent, I think. And they have the nicest little girl you ever saw. Her name is Gentilla Lee. She likes me, I know she does, Grandmother. I want to go see her again.”“You are wet in spots, child, and damp all over,” was all Grandmother replied. “Come straight in the house and let me put dry clothes on you.”Grandfather and the gypsy had been talking together all this time, and now Grandfather put something into Mr. James Lee’s hand that made his white teeth gleam in a smile, and caused him to drive first to the store in the village before returning to his hungry family in their tent in the woods.Then Phil was escorted home; Miss Liza was driven back to Miss Lunette, who might be worried sick by her absence, Miss Liza thought, but who proved to have slept soundly through the storm; and Susan, her tongue wagging, was put into a hot bath and dressed in dry clothes from head to foot before Grandfather returned.“I want to go back and see the gypsies,” Susan teased the next day. “I want to see Gentilla. Please, Grandfather, take me to see the gypsies.”So Grandmother baked a cake in her largest tin, and at the village store Grandfather and Susan purchased several yards of bright red hair-ribbon. With these offerings they made their way to the gypsy tent, and received a hospitable welcome.The van, with all its conveniences, was willingly displayed, and Grandfather was invited to test with his hand the softness of the beds, the like of which, Mrs. Lee declared, was not to be found in kings’ palaces. Privately, Grandfather believed this to be true, but, of course, he didn’t say it aloud.To-day, with the sun shining, and the dogs gnawing a bone at a safe distance in the grass, the tent seemed to Susan even more attractive than before. She thought with scorn of her own white little room at home, and wished with all her heart that she had been born a gypsy child. Even the two bold little girls seemed pleasanter, and indeed, delighted with their new hair-ribbons and awed by Grandfather’s presence, they were more quiet and well-behaved, at least during Susan’s call.The big boy silently devoured his share of Grandmother’s cake, and then, with a hungry look still gleaming in his eyes, gazed so longingly at the crumbs remaining that Grandfather took pity upon him. With a turn of his hand he flipped a piece of money at the lad so that, with sure aim, he struck the boy’s bare foot.“Go buy something to eat with it,” commanded Grandfather.Pulling at his tangled hair in a rough bow of thanks, the boy, waiting for no second bidding, vanished among the trees and was seen no more by his family that afternoon.Mr. James Lee entertained Grandfather as one gentleman should another. He had many stories of adventure to tell, and he even brought out his fiddle from under the beds and played several lively gypsy tunes.“Shall I tell the little miss’s fortune?” asked Mrs. Lee, with a half-sly look, and she laughed outright when Grandfather shook his head with a smile.“I believe in your fortune-telling just about as much as you do,” he answered. “My granddaughter seems perfectly happy this moment. She doesn’t need any better fortune than she has.”Nor did she, for she and Gentilla, still carrying the squash baby, had become good friends and were enjoying their play together equally well. They walked off, hand in hand, Susan helping Gentilla over the rough places and mothering her to her heart’s delight. She washed her new baby’s face and hands in the brook and dried them upon her own handkerchief. She told her about Flip, and Snowball, and Snuff, to which Gentilla listened with a roll of her big gray eyes. She, herself, didn’t talk very much, but Susan quite made up for this lack, and had begun to teach her “Two little blackbirds sat upon a hill,” when she heard Grandfather calling and knew that she must go.“I don’t want to leave Gentilla,” said Susan, as she joined the group before the tent. “Do you suppose I can come and play with her to-morrow?” “Perhaps Mrs. Lee will let Gentilla come and play with you,” answered Mr. Whiting, who thought Susan better off at home than in the gypsy camp.So it was settled that Mr. James Lee would bring Gentilla to-morrow to spend the day, and Susan went home with a happy heart, chattering to Grandfather about her new-found friends.“Wouldn’t you like to be a gypsy, Grandfather?” asked she. “Wouldn’t you like to live in a tent? Why isn’t everybody a gypsy? It’s such a nice way to live.”“Well, Susan, most people think it better to stay in one place instead of wandering over the face of the earth,” answered Grandfather. “And among other things, they want their children to go to school and to church, too.”“I don’t care so much about going to school,” said Susan, honestly. “I know I would like to live in a tent and ride around in that van.”“It seems pleasant enough now, while it is warm weather,” admitted Grandfather. “But what about cold, and rain, and snow, and not any too much to eat?”“They were hungry, weren’t they?” pondered Susan. “How they did like Grandmother’s cake!”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.”
CHAPTER VI—THE GYPSIESSusan sneezed twice, coughed, and looked about her.She stood in a tent, round like a circus tent, and the air was heavy with smoke from a fire smouldering on the ground. There were no doors or windows in the tent, and but little light entered on this dark afternoon through a half-dozen rents in the roof.But Susan made out in the gloom not only the man and boy who had brought her there, but a plump, dark woman, with gold hoops in her ears, who was gently wiping the rain from Phil’s face, three or four ragged children dressed in bright reds and yellows, staring intently at her with big black eyes, and a dog or two, discreetly lurking in the dim background.Susan sneezed again, and the woman turned from Phil and spoke.“It’s the smoke, dearie,” said she kindly. “You’ll be used to it in a moment. Tell your little brother not to be afraid. He is among friends. We wouldn’t hurt a hair of your heads. Tell him that.”“I want to go home,” said Phil, with under lip thrust out. “I want to go home.”“And so you shall,” said the woman briskly, “as soon as it stops raining a bit, and my man can find out where you live.”“Straight up the hill,” said Susan quickly. She, too, was eager to be at home. “I saw you at my gate,” she added shyly, to the man. “My grandfather said ‘Sarishan’ to you.”Susan knew the brown velveteen coat, though the red tie was hidden under the upturned collar.The man looked at her a moment, and then he smiled.“True enough,” said he. “I remember. I’ll take you home. I’ll harness the ‘gry’ and take them in the van,” said he to his wife. “It’s still raining hard. They shall know that the gypsies are good to deal with, and that the worst of them is not James Lee.”And, whistling his gay little tune, Mr. James Lee lifted the tent flap and went out again into the rain which still pattered musically on the canvas roof.Susan began to enjoy herself. Now that she knew she was going home shortly, she looked about her with fresh pleasure.“It would be fun to live in a tent,” she thought,—“so different from home. No beds, no chairs, no table. The gypsies must eat sitting on the ground, and sleep, perhaps, on that great heap in the corner.”That it was not very clean, and was very, very crowded, smoky and dark did not enter Susan’s mind.She smiled at the children still staring silently at her. Besides the big boy who, with back turned, seemed busy in the corner, there were three little girls, two of whom, with coarse black hair and bold eyes, smiled back at Susan and then fell to giggling and poking one another. One of them darted forward and jerked at Susan’s scarlet hair-ribbon. The other stole slyly behind her and twitched her dress. They were mischievous, trixy children, and Susan felt uneasy with them. She was relieved when their mother, seeing the rough play, exclaimed, “Clear out, you young ones,” and drove them away.The third little girl, who was scarcely more than a baby, remained in her place, staring solemnly at Susan. She did not look like the other children; indeed, she did not look like a gypsy at all. She was a slender little creature with pale brown hair, large gray eyes, and a tiny hooked nose that gave a strange air of determination to her baby face. She held something behind her back, and suddenly she stepped forward and showed it to Susan.It was the lost squash baby!Susan knew it instantly. It had even the bit of blue rag tied about its neck.“Why, it’s my squash baby!” said she, in surprise.“Yours, is it?” said Mrs. Lee, coming forward. “My man picked it up in the road and gave it to Gentilla. Give it back, Gentilla. The little miss wants it.”“No, no, I don’t want it,” said Susan hastily. “Let her keep it. Is her name Gentilla? She is a nice little girl.”“Gentilla Lee, a good gypsy name,” returned Mrs. Lee. “She is an orphan. She is my husband’s brother’s child. You might think I had enough to do with three children of my own. But no, I must have one more.” And Mrs. Lee lifted the tent flap and moodily looked out into the still falling rain.Susan smiled at Gentilla, who looked soberly back and then moved closer to Susan’s side and began stroking the visitor’s dress with a tiny hand that was far from clean. Suddenly she slipped her hand in Susan’s, and, swinging round on it, smiled up into her face.It seemed a good beginning of a friendship, and Susan was sorry when Mrs. Lee turned round in the doorway and said:“Here comes my man with the van. You will be home in no time now.”Through the woods stepped Mr. James Lee leading a bony gray horse, which was drawing a gypsy van, gay with bright red and green and black paint. He opened the door in the back of the van and helped the children in.“My pail,” said Phil, clutching his slippers. “I’ve lost my pail.”Mrs. Lee disappeared into the tent, and came out in a moment with Phil’s pail—empty! No wonder the big boy, busy eating Phil’s berries, had turned his back in the corner of the tent.“Don’t cry, Phil. You shall have half my berries. Don’t cry. We’re going home.” And Susan waved vigorous good-byes to Mrs. Lee and Gentilla, held back by her aunt from following Susan into the van.Mr. Lee carefully led his horse through the woods to the muddy road, and then, sitting up in front, drove his old “gry” up the hill toward Featherbed Lane.In the meantime Susan and Phil were looking round the van in surprise and delight.“It’s like a little playhouse,” said Susan, squeezing Phil’s hand. “Oh, I wish I lived in a gypsy van all the time.”Opposite the door, in the very front of the van, were two beds, one above the other like berths on a ship, and broad enough, each one, to hold three or four gypsy children at once, if need be, and as, in fact, they very often did. There was a little cookstove, whose pipe wandered out of the side of the van in a most unusual way. And alongside the stove was a table, hanging by hinges from the wall. A high chest of drawers and two chairs completed the furniture of the van, which looked very much like a state-room and felt somewhat like one, too, as it swayed over the hillocks and ruts in the road.Up Featherbed Lane bounced the van, and there on the porch stood Grandmother and Miss Liza, both with white cheeks and anxious faces, while Grandfather came hurrying from the barn where he had been harnessing old Nero with a speed that quite upset the dignity of that staid Roman-nosed beast.“Where were you, children?” cried Miss Liza in greeting, twisting the corner of her apron as she spoke. “I ran up here in all that downpour, and I didn’t see a sign of you on the way.”“My berries are gone,” called Phil. “The big boy ate them. And I was afraid. And we were inside a tent.”“They are gypsies,” said Susan in a low voice to Grandmother, who was carefully feeling her all over. “They live in a tent. And, inside, that van is just like a doll’s house. Their name is Lee. I wish I lived in a van; it’s better than a tent, I think. And they have the nicest little girl you ever saw. Her name is Gentilla Lee. She likes me, I know she does, Grandmother. I want to go see her again.”“You are wet in spots, child, and damp all over,” was all Grandmother replied. “Come straight in the house and let me put dry clothes on you.”Grandfather and the gypsy had been talking together all this time, and now Grandfather put something into Mr. James Lee’s hand that made his white teeth gleam in a smile, and caused him to drive first to the store in the village before returning to his hungry family in their tent in the woods.Then Phil was escorted home; Miss Liza was driven back to Miss Lunette, who might be worried sick by her absence, Miss Liza thought, but who proved to have slept soundly through the storm; and Susan, her tongue wagging, was put into a hot bath and dressed in dry clothes from head to foot before Grandfather returned.“I want to go back and see the gypsies,” Susan teased the next day. “I want to see Gentilla. Please, Grandfather, take me to see the gypsies.”So Grandmother baked a cake in her largest tin, and at the village store Grandfather and Susan purchased several yards of bright red hair-ribbon. With these offerings they made their way to the gypsy tent, and received a hospitable welcome.The van, with all its conveniences, was willingly displayed, and Grandfather was invited to test with his hand the softness of the beds, the like of which, Mrs. Lee declared, was not to be found in kings’ palaces. Privately, Grandfather believed this to be true, but, of course, he didn’t say it aloud.To-day, with the sun shining, and the dogs gnawing a bone at a safe distance in the grass, the tent seemed to Susan even more attractive than before. She thought with scorn of her own white little room at home, and wished with all her heart that she had been born a gypsy child. Even the two bold little girls seemed pleasanter, and indeed, delighted with their new hair-ribbons and awed by Grandfather’s presence, they were more quiet and well-behaved, at least during Susan’s call.The big boy silently devoured his share of Grandmother’s cake, and then, with a hungry look still gleaming in his eyes, gazed so longingly at the crumbs remaining that Grandfather took pity upon him. With a turn of his hand he flipped a piece of money at the lad so that, with sure aim, he struck the boy’s bare foot.“Go buy something to eat with it,” commanded Grandfather.Pulling at his tangled hair in a rough bow of thanks, the boy, waiting for no second bidding, vanished among the trees and was seen no more by his family that afternoon.Mr. James Lee entertained Grandfather as one gentleman should another. He had many stories of adventure to tell, and he even brought out his fiddle from under the beds and played several lively gypsy tunes.“Shall I tell the little miss’s fortune?” asked Mrs. Lee, with a half-sly look, and she laughed outright when Grandfather shook his head with a smile.“I believe in your fortune-telling just about as much as you do,” he answered. “My granddaughter seems perfectly happy this moment. She doesn’t need any better fortune than she has.”Nor did she, for she and Gentilla, still carrying the squash baby, had become good friends and were enjoying their play together equally well. They walked off, hand in hand, Susan helping Gentilla over the rough places and mothering her to her heart’s delight. She washed her new baby’s face and hands in the brook and dried them upon her own handkerchief. She told her about Flip, and Snowball, and Snuff, to which Gentilla listened with a roll of her big gray eyes. She, herself, didn’t talk very much, but Susan quite made up for this lack, and had begun to teach her “Two little blackbirds sat upon a hill,” when she heard Grandfather calling and knew that she must go.“I don’t want to leave Gentilla,” said Susan, as she joined the group before the tent. “Do you suppose I can come and play with her to-morrow?” “Perhaps Mrs. Lee will let Gentilla come and play with you,” answered Mr. Whiting, who thought Susan better off at home than in the gypsy camp.So it was settled that Mr. James Lee would bring Gentilla to-morrow to spend the day, and Susan went home with a happy heart, chattering to Grandfather about her new-found friends.“Wouldn’t you like to be a gypsy, Grandfather?” asked she. “Wouldn’t you like to live in a tent? Why isn’t everybody a gypsy? It’s such a nice way to live.”“Well, Susan, most people think it better to stay in one place instead of wandering over the face of the earth,” answered Grandfather. “And among other things, they want their children to go to school and to church, too.”“I don’t care so much about going to school,” said Susan, honestly. “I know I would like to live in a tent and ride around in that van.”“It seems pleasant enough now, while it is warm weather,” admitted Grandfather. “But what about cold, and rain, and snow, and not any too much to eat?”“They were hungry, weren’t they?” pondered Susan. “How they did like Grandmother’s cake!”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 sneezed twice, coughed, and looked about her.
She stood in a tent, round like a circus tent, and the air was heavy with smoke from a fire smouldering on the ground. There were no doors or windows in the tent, and but little light entered on this dark afternoon through a half-dozen rents in the roof.
But Susan made out in the gloom not only the man and boy who had brought her there, but a plump, dark woman, with gold hoops in her ears, who was gently wiping the rain from Phil’s face, three or four ragged children dressed in bright reds and yellows, staring intently at her with big black eyes, and a dog or two, discreetly lurking in the dim background.
Susan sneezed again, and the woman turned from Phil and spoke.
“It’s the smoke, dearie,” said she kindly. “You’ll be used to it in a moment. Tell your little brother not to be afraid. He is among friends. We wouldn’t hurt a hair of your heads. Tell him that.”
“I want to go home,” said Phil, with under lip thrust out. “I want to go home.”
“And so you shall,” said the woman briskly, “as soon as it stops raining a bit, and my man can find out where you live.”
“Straight up the hill,” said Susan quickly. She, too, was eager to be at home. “I saw you at my gate,” she added shyly, to the man. “My grandfather said ‘Sarishan’ to you.”
Susan knew the brown velveteen coat, though the red tie was hidden under the upturned collar.
The man looked at her a moment, and then he smiled.
“True enough,” said he. “I remember. I’ll take you home. I’ll harness the ‘gry’ and take them in the van,” said he to his wife. “It’s still raining hard. They shall know that the gypsies are good to deal with, and that the worst of them is not James Lee.”
And, whistling his gay little tune, Mr. James Lee lifted the tent flap and went out again into the rain which still pattered musically on the canvas roof.
Susan began to enjoy herself. Now that she knew she was going home shortly, she looked about her with fresh pleasure.
“It would be fun to live in a tent,” she thought,—“so different from home. No beds, no chairs, no table. The gypsies must eat sitting on the ground, and sleep, perhaps, on that great heap in the corner.”
That it was not very clean, and was very, very crowded, smoky and dark did not enter Susan’s mind.
She smiled at the children still staring silently at her. Besides the big boy who, with back turned, seemed busy in the corner, there were three little girls, two of whom, with coarse black hair and bold eyes, smiled back at Susan and then fell to giggling and poking one another. One of them darted forward and jerked at Susan’s scarlet hair-ribbon. The other stole slyly behind her and twitched her dress. They were mischievous, trixy children, and Susan felt uneasy with them. She was relieved when their mother, seeing the rough play, exclaimed, “Clear out, you young ones,” and drove them away.
The third little girl, who was scarcely more than a baby, remained in her place, staring solemnly at Susan. She did not look like the other children; indeed, she did not look like a gypsy at all. She was a slender little creature with pale brown hair, large gray eyes, and a tiny hooked nose that gave a strange air of determination to her baby face. She held something behind her back, and suddenly she stepped forward and showed it to Susan.
It was the lost squash baby!
Susan knew it instantly. It had even the bit of blue rag tied about its neck.
“Why, it’s my squash baby!” said she, in surprise.
“Yours, is it?” said Mrs. Lee, coming forward. “My man picked it up in the road and gave it to Gentilla. Give it back, Gentilla. The little miss wants it.”
“No, no, I don’t want it,” said Susan hastily. “Let her keep it. Is her name Gentilla? She is a nice little girl.”
“Gentilla Lee, a good gypsy name,” returned Mrs. Lee. “She is an orphan. She is my husband’s brother’s child. You might think I had enough to do with three children of my own. But no, I must have one more.” And Mrs. Lee lifted the tent flap and moodily looked out into the still falling rain.
Susan smiled at Gentilla, who looked soberly back and then moved closer to Susan’s side and began stroking the visitor’s dress with a tiny hand that was far from clean. Suddenly she slipped her hand in Susan’s, and, swinging round on it, smiled up into her face.
It seemed a good beginning of a friendship, and Susan was sorry when Mrs. Lee turned round in the doorway and said:
“Here comes my man with the van. You will be home in no time now.”
Through the woods stepped Mr. James Lee leading a bony gray horse, which was drawing a gypsy van, gay with bright red and green and black paint. He opened the door in the back of the van and helped the children in.
“My pail,” said Phil, clutching his slippers. “I’ve lost my pail.”
Mrs. Lee disappeared into the tent, and came out in a moment with Phil’s pail—empty! No wonder the big boy, busy eating Phil’s berries, had turned his back in the corner of the tent.
“Don’t cry, Phil. You shall have half my berries. Don’t cry. We’re going home.” And Susan waved vigorous good-byes to Mrs. Lee and Gentilla, held back by her aunt from following Susan into the van.
Mr. Lee carefully led his horse through the woods to the muddy road, and then, sitting up in front, drove his old “gry” up the hill toward Featherbed Lane.
In the meantime Susan and Phil were looking round the van in surprise and delight.
“It’s like a little playhouse,” said Susan, squeezing Phil’s hand. “Oh, I wish I lived in a gypsy van all the time.”
Opposite the door, in the very front of the van, were two beds, one above the other like berths on a ship, and broad enough, each one, to hold three or four gypsy children at once, if need be, and as, in fact, they very often did. There was a little cookstove, whose pipe wandered out of the side of the van in a most unusual way. And alongside the stove was a table, hanging by hinges from the wall. A high chest of drawers and two chairs completed the furniture of the van, which looked very much like a state-room and felt somewhat like one, too, as it swayed over the hillocks and ruts in the road.
Up Featherbed Lane bounced the van, and there on the porch stood Grandmother and Miss Liza, both with white cheeks and anxious faces, while Grandfather came hurrying from the barn where he had been harnessing old Nero with a speed that quite upset the dignity of that staid Roman-nosed beast.
“Where were you, children?” cried Miss Liza in greeting, twisting the corner of her apron as she spoke. “I ran up here in all that downpour, and I didn’t see a sign of you on the way.”
“My berries are gone,” called Phil. “The big boy ate them. And I was afraid. And we were inside a tent.”
“They are gypsies,” said Susan in a low voice to Grandmother, who was carefully feeling her all over. “They live in a tent. And, inside, that van is just like a doll’s house. Their name is Lee. I wish I lived in a van; it’s better than a tent, I think. And they have the nicest little girl you ever saw. Her name is Gentilla Lee. She likes me, I know she does, Grandmother. I want to go see her again.”
“You are wet in spots, child, and damp all over,” was all Grandmother replied. “Come straight in the house and let me put dry clothes on you.”
Grandfather and the gypsy had been talking together all this time, and now Grandfather put something into Mr. James Lee’s hand that made his white teeth gleam in a smile, and caused him to drive first to the store in the village before returning to his hungry family in their tent in the woods.
Then Phil was escorted home; Miss Liza was driven back to Miss Lunette, who might be worried sick by her absence, Miss Liza thought, but who proved to have slept soundly through the storm; and Susan, her tongue wagging, was put into a hot bath and dressed in dry clothes from head to foot before Grandfather returned.
“I want to go back and see the gypsies,” Susan teased the next day. “I want to see Gentilla. Please, Grandfather, take me to see the gypsies.”
So Grandmother baked a cake in her largest tin, and at the village store Grandfather and Susan purchased several yards of bright red hair-ribbon. With these offerings they made their way to the gypsy tent, and received a hospitable welcome.
The van, with all its conveniences, was willingly displayed, and Grandfather was invited to test with his hand the softness of the beds, the like of which, Mrs. Lee declared, was not to be found in kings’ palaces. Privately, Grandfather believed this to be true, but, of course, he didn’t say it aloud.
To-day, with the sun shining, and the dogs gnawing a bone at a safe distance in the grass, the tent seemed to Susan even more attractive than before. She thought with scorn of her own white little room at home, and wished with all her heart that she had been born a gypsy child. Even the two bold little girls seemed pleasanter, and indeed, delighted with their new hair-ribbons and awed by Grandfather’s presence, they were more quiet and well-behaved, at least during Susan’s call.
The big boy silently devoured his share of Grandmother’s cake, and then, with a hungry look still gleaming in his eyes, gazed so longingly at the crumbs remaining that Grandfather took pity upon him. With a turn of his hand he flipped a piece of money at the lad so that, with sure aim, he struck the boy’s bare foot.
“Go buy something to eat with it,” commanded Grandfather.
Pulling at his tangled hair in a rough bow of thanks, the boy, waiting for no second bidding, vanished among the trees and was seen no more by his family that afternoon.
Mr. James Lee entertained Grandfather as one gentleman should another. He had many stories of adventure to tell, and he even brought out his fiddle from under the beds and played several lively gypsy tunes.
“Shall I tell the little miss’s fortune?” asked Mrs. Lee, with a half-sly look, and she laughed outright when Grandfather shook his head with a smile.
“I believe in your fortune-telling just about as much as you do,” he answered. “My granddaughter seems perfectly happy this moment. She doesn’t need any better fortune than she has.”
Nor did she, for she and Gentilla, still carrying the squash baby, had become good friends and were enjoying their play together equally well. They walked off, hand in hand, Susan helping Gentilla over the rough places and mothering her to her heart’s delight. She washed her new baby’s face and hands in the brook and dried them upon her own handkerchief. She told her about Flip, and Snowball, and Snuff, to which Gentilla listened with a roll of her big gray eyes. She, herself, didn’t talk very much, but Susan quite made up for this lack, and had begun to teach her “Two little blackbirds sat upon a hill,” when she heard Grandfather calling and knew that she must go.
“I don’t want to leave Gentilla,” said Susan, as she joined the group before the tent. “Do you suppose I can come and play with her to-morrow?” “Perhaps Mrs. Lee will let Gentilla come and play with you,” answered Mr. Whiting, who thought Susan better off at home than in the gypsy camp.
So it was settled that Mr. James Lee would bring Gentilla to-morrow to spend the day, and Susan went home with a happy heart, chattering to Grandfather about her new-found friends.
“Wouldn’t you like to be a gypsy, Grandfather?” asked she. “Wouldn’t you like to live in a tent? Why isn’t everybody a gypsy? It’s such a nice way to live.”
“Well, Susan, most people think it better to stay in one place instead of wandering over the face of the earth,” answered Grandfather. “And among other things, they want their children to go to school and to church, too.”
“I don’t care so much about going to school,” said Susan, honestly. “I know I would like to live in a tent and ride around in that van.”
“It seems pleasant enough now, while it is warm weather,” admitted Grandfather. “But what about cold, and rain, and snow, and not any too much to eat?”
“They were hungry, weren’t they?” pondered Susan. “How they did like Grandmother’s cake!”
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.”