Peggy’s Home upon Wheels.
Peggy’s caravan was a very pretty, though small, house upon wheels. It
was her bed and dressing-room, her study and her boudoir all in one.
Peggy swung here in a dear little hammock at night. The little
hair-mattress and the bed-clothes were folded and put away in a locker
as soon as she got up, but the hammock was left out. It came in handy at
the mid-day halt for dinner, to swing beneath the trees. To lie thus,
with the blue of the sky above and the warm sunlight flittering through
the greenery of branches, with a book in one’s hand, is indeed to enjoy
_dolce far niente_, and as delightful an experience as any traveller can
enjoy.
Old Molly was Peggy’s coachman; she slept on the floor of the same
caravan with Ralph the blood-hound.
If you have never seen the inside of a caravan like Peggy’s you scarce
could believe what a charming room it makes. It was all mirrors,
brackets, lounges, tiny pictures, photos, and flowers, and at night the
swing-lamp was lit, and the fairy lights shimmered through the foliage
and petals of bright bouquets; it looked like the palace of an elfin
princess, and pretty Peggy was its presiding genius.
She had always Kammie, when Kammie was awake and not stalking flies, and
she had always Ralph, and to these she used to play and sing. But
sometimes of an afternoon a gentle knock would be heard at the door, and
lo! there was little Willie with his little violin.
“May I come in, Miss Peggy?”
“Oh, yes, Willie.”
Then out came the mandoline. Willie put on the mute, so that the notes
of the violin might be softer, sweeter, and more thrilling. Perhaps
Johnnie would now enter with his clarionet, and throw in a bar here and
there when it would be most effective. I do believe our little people
enjoyed these chance concerts, as Willie called them, better than
anything else in their wandering lives.
The great saloon of the large caravan, with its after-cabin, was simply
a villa upon wheels. This was the chief abode of Fitzroy and his son
Johnnie, who took turn about in driving. But Johnnie also acted as
courier, and as the show took up much time on the road, one of this
sturdy lad’s principal duties was to ride far ahead, towards evening, to
find a suitable field for the camp or settlement. The horses were all
fed on good oats, and slumbered at night in an extempore stable composed
of bamboo poles and canvas.
The caravans on that morning, after leaving their pitch and entering the
forest, passed many a rustic cottage, and so early was it that the
pretty rural children rushed to the door just as they had jumped out of
bed, not taking time to dress.
“Hooray! Hoo-ooo-ray!” they shouted, waving brown, fat arms in the air.
“Hooray, the big, big caravans.”
“Oh, look at the pretty little one!”
“And the fairy lady at the window!”
“Oh, listen to the lion a-roaring for his bekfust.”
“Oh, Maggie, Betsy, Mary, Doddie, come here! Come quick and see the
giant and the dwarf!”
The giant, who was lolling on Willie’s cart, made ogre mouths at them,
and the dwarf shrieked shrilly, and squeaked and squalled like Punch at
the fair.
It was good fun!
But how delightful for the youngsters of a village they soon came to,
when the whole show was stopped for twenty minutes in the principal
street, that the horses might get water, and the giant stretch his legs!
The giant was the hero then, and the boys vied with each other as to who
should get nearest to the giant. The lad who was brave enough to rub his
shoulder against Gourmand’s jacket skirts was considered a hero. To rub
against a real giant, was among those simple village lads deemed a feat
to be remembered for ever and a day.
* * * * *
There would be no play to-night, for Father Reginald Fitzroy knew his
people needed rest after the fatigues of that campaign by the sea. The
boys and girls who would have fain crowded into the field and broken up
the peace of the encampment were warned that it might be dangerous to
come near, as the wild chameleon was very restless this evening, and if
he escaped there was no saying what might happen. One lad, however,
ventured to inquire what sort of an animal a “chameeling” was.
“Something like the awful crocodile of the Nile,” replied Johnnie;
“only, instead of seizing his prey with his jaws, he darts forth a
terrible tongue, which is nearly as long as his body, and draws the
victim in.”
“Swallers ’em alive, sir?”
“Yes, swallows him alive, and he is slowly tortured to death in his dark
inside.”
At that moment the deep-mouthed bloodhound began to bay and roar, and
all the crowd backed away from the gate in some confusion.
Only one brave English boy stopped.
“I say, gipsy!”
“Well?” replied Johnnie.
“I’d like to come inside and foight thee for a farthin’ stick o’ toffy.”
“No, I won’t fight,” said Johnnie; “but I’ll wrestle you, and if I don’t
hold you down half a minute, then throw you over this five-barred gate,
I will give you sixpence.”
“Done wi’ thee,” cried the boy, and he stripped to the waist in an
instant, and confidently leapt over into the field.
The juvenile crowd gathered round to see their champion win. They felt
certain of his success. But when they saw Johnnie stripped, and noticed
his bulging biceps, and the flesh lumped upon his chest and forearms,
they began to have their doubts.
Now Johnnie was a strong lad, but not a freak. There was no
unshapeliness about his muscular formation. And he had that staying
power and nerve which are better even than extra strength. Two villagers
(men) volunteered to see fair play, and after shaking hands the lads got
into grips.
They both kept their wits about them, and showed considerable skill, but
in less than two minutes, Jack--we must call Johnnie “Jack” on this
occasion--cross-buttocked his opponent, and next moment he was on his
back. And Jack held him down for fully a minute, while wild cheers rent
the air. The boy owned up like a man to being beaten.
“Shall I throw you over the gate now?” said Jack.
“N--o, thank you,” was the reply. “I know when I has enough. But shake
hands again. You’re the first chap as has ever ‘downed’ Charlie
Crockett. Shake again.”
They shook.
“Now,” said Charlie, “I’ll keep away the crowd, as ye says you’re tired
and needs peace. But----”
“Well, Charlie?”
“Well, Jack, as they calls you, couldn’t we just see the beautiful young
lady once?”
“I’m sure you may,” said Johnnie. (He is Johnnie now, you see.) “Wait!”
And off he ran to camp and saw Peggy. He told her all.
“Couldn’t you sing just one song at the gate?”
Peggy could and would, and Willie the dwarf took his fiddle to accompany
her. Standing on a barrow by the gate, the good-natured girl, who was
charmingly dressed, sang not one song but two.
When the cheering had about finished, the strong boy, whom Jack had
beaten, jumped into the field and popped a bag into her hand.
“What’s this?” said Peggy, simply.
“Them’s lollipops, Miss,” he answered, shyly, “with my love, Miss.”
Then he ran right away to hide his blushes before the cool and collected
little lady had time to thank him for his lollipops and love.
They all slept very soundly that night, specially Peggy, until the early
birds singing and pattering on the caravan roof awoke them to the joys
of gipsy life.