THE GIPSIES' ENCAMPMENT
THE following morning, at the breakfast-table, Mr. Burford remarked
to his little daughter: "Dr. Brewer's coming to see you some time
to-day, my dear, so you must stay indoors until he has been here."
"Very well, Father," Nellie answered. "Did you ask him to come?" she
inquired. "He said the last time he saw me that he shouldn't call
again without he was sent for, and I'm not ill, you know."
"No, not ill," Mr. Burford agreed. "But you're not very strong,
are you? Didn't I hear you complaining of leg-ache last night?"
"Yes," said the little girl; "my legs are always aching now, and they
feel so weak and funny sometimes, just as if they were somebody
else's legs, not mine."
"Perhaps Dr. Brewer may be able to give you some medicine to put them
right," suggested Tom. "He may, mayn't he, Mother?"
"Oh, I hope so," Mrs. Burford replied. She spoke with a smile and
in a cheerful tone, but her glance as it rested on her little
daughter showed anxiety to Tom's sharp, watchful eyes.
Nellie was looking very pale and languid this morning, and did not
in the least mind having to remain indoors. Breakfast over, Tom said
he would walk to the bank with his Father, and soon afterwards the
pair set off together, accompanied by the ever-ready Tim.
"Father," began the boy, as soon as they had left the house,
"I believe you're worried about Nellie, aren't you?"
"Yes, Tom, I am," Mr. Burford replied. "Don't alarm yourself,"
he continued hastily, for Tom had suddenly become quite white.
"I don't think she's actually ill, but you know that illness of hers
pulled her down dreadfully, and—well, she's a frail little thing, and
she doesn't pick up strength so quickly as we hoped she would."
"I know what Dr. Brewer will say when he sees her," Tom said in a
troubled tone; "he'll say, as he did before, that she ought to go
to the seaside for a change."
Mr. Burford nodded. "Yes, I quite expect that will be it," he agreed.
"If he does, we must manage to send her," he added, to Tom's
surprise.
"But, Father, how can it be managed?" the little boy questioned.
"I thought you couldn't spare the money. Mother told me you
couldn't."
"I can't spare the money for a holiday for us all this year, and
if I could, that would only mean a fortnight's change; but I've
been hearing of a school—a sort of nursing home it is really—
at Broadstairs, where for a small sum a week, delicate children
are medically treated, taught, and well cared for. If I don't manage
to send Nellie there for a few months—say, till Christmas—"
"What, by herself?" broke in Tom, utterly aghast at this idea.
"Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't like that!"
"Of course, some one—her mother, most probably—would take her to
Broadstairs," Mr. Burford explained. "I was not suggesting that she
should make such a long journey alone."
"But she would be alone with strangers afterwards! In a strange
place, too! Oh, how can you bear to think of it, Father? I'm sure
Mother won't let her go. You don't think she will, do you?"
"Yes, certainly, if it is best for our little girl. It may be a
matter of life or death whether Nellie goes to Broadstairs or not.
Yes, Tom, indeed it may. The air there is very good, I am told, and
Dr. Brewer believes it would be the best medicine Nellie could
possibly have. Of course, we shall miss the child dreadfully, but we
must put all personal feelings aside for her sake. I know her mother
will, and so must you and I, Tom."
Tom liked to be linked with his father in that way, and his face,
which had been overcast with dismay, suddenly brightened.
"Remember, our conversation has been confidential," Mr. Burford
reminded him. "Don't say anything about Broadstairs to Nellie for the
present. You understand?"
Tom nodded assent. They had reached the bank now, so there was no
time for further conversation. The little boy stood outside on the
pavement for several minutes after his father had left him,
reflecting on what had been said; then, noticing that Tim was looking
up at him with a questioning expression in his brown eyes, he stooped
and patted the dog, saying: "All right, old fellow; we'll have a good
walk in the country before we go home, I know that's what you want."
A quarter of an hour later Tom had left the town and was passing
along the road which led by Halcyon Villa. So occupied was his mind
with thoughts of his sister that he had reached the end of the road,
and had turned into a narrow lane, shaded by hazel bushes which
nearly met overhead, when a low growl from Tim warned him that
another dog was near.
"To heel, Tim!" he commanded, sharply, and, as Tim obeyed, he caught
sight of Peter Perry, seated on a mossy bank on one side of the lane,
holding Bounce by a leash. "Don't let your dog go!" he shouted.
"All right, I won't!" Peter answered. He rose as he spoke, his dark
cheeks flushing, walked a few steps forward, and stopped. "It's Tom
Burford, isn't it?" he said, in a hesitating, nervous tone.
Tom stared at him, struck dumb with amazement. Was it really possible
that Peter did not recognise him? Oh, he could not believe that!
"Of course it is Tom Burford," Peter continued. "I knew your voice
the minute I heard it. I had been wondering who was coming. I'm so
glad it's you! I've been hoping to meet you—"
"That's enough!" interrupted Tom, angrily. "You have been hoping
to meet me? You expect me to believe that? If it was true you'd have
spoken to me the other day in the town!"
"The other day in the town?" echoed Peter. "Oh, did we meet in the
town? I wish you'd spoken to me, then—"
"Why should I have spoken to you?" Tom interrupted again; "I don't
want to have anything to do with you!"
"I didn't think you did," Peter replied, with surprising meekness;
"of course there was no reason why you should have spoken to me—
I only said I wished you had. I want to tell you how very, very sorry
I am about that shilling. Please do believe that I didn't mean
to insult you. I—I thought if you were so poor—" He broke off,
looking greatly distressed.
"I wouldn't have taken your money if I'd been starving!" declared
Tom.
"I didn't mean to insult you," Peter repeated, and, to Tom's
amazement, there were actually tears in his eyes as he spoke.
"How could I tell what sort of boy you were?"
"You might have seen, I should have thought!"
"Oh, but surely you know—" Peter was saying eagerly, when the two
dogs, which had been regarding each other with hostile glances, began
to snarl. "Oh, they're going to fight again!" he exclaimed; "what can
we do?"
"You'd better go on," Tom said, gripping Tim by the collar;
"I couldn't hold my dog if he struggled much—he's awfully strong.
Don't wait any longer! Go on—do go on!"
Thus adjured, Peter did go on, and in a very few minutes disappeared,
with Bounce, around the turn leading from the lane into the road.
"Well, that is the most extraordinary boy I have ever met," Tom
reflected, as, having released Tim, he went along the lane; "the idea
of his pretending he didn't recognise me in the town, or to-day
either until I spoke! I don't think he can be quite right in his
head."
By and by he came to a five-barred gate. It was locked, but he
climbed over it and crossed two grass fields to a wood beyond.
Through the wood he went, and into the road which passed by Hatwell
Green. Five minutes later he had reached the gipsies' encampment.
Hatwell Green was a triangular piece of common ground, with fields on
two sides and the high road on the other. There were several caravans
there besides the Lees', and two tents; in front of one of the latter
a group of children were playing, amongst whom was Zingra. The little
girl left the others as soon as her bright dark eyes espied Tom, and
made for the red and yellow caravan, calling for her mother. A moment
later Mrs. Lee descended the steps of the caravan, and, with Zingra
holding to her skirt, came and spoke to Tom. "Good morning, young
gentleman," she said, smiling. "Look, Zingra, at the pretty doggie!"
Zingra dropped her hold of her mother's skirt, and clasped Tim around
the neck. At first Tom was afraid the dog might resent this
treatment, but instead of doing so he seemed much flattered by the
little girl's embrace, and licked her brown cheek.
"It isn't often a dog will hurt a child," Mrs. Lee observed;
"Zingra's like her father, and has a soft spot in her heart for dumb
animals."
"Don't you keep a dog?" inquired Tom.
The woman shook her head. "Our last was shot by a gamekeeper,"
she said, and Moses says he won't get another. "The poor creature
crawled back to the caravan wounded, and died." She passed her hand
across her eyes. "I can't bear to think of it," she added feelingly.
"I dare say not," Tom answered, with ready sympathy.
Mrs. Lee was a very friendly and talkative woman. She informed Tom
that there were three families encamped on the Green, and that the
heads of the families, with the exception of herself, had gone to
attend a fair which was being held at a town some miles distant;
she had been left to fulfil some domestic duties and see the children
came to no harm, she explained. By and by she asked Tom if he would
like to look around, and when he gave an eager assent, allowed him
to go into the tents, one of which was used as a kitchen and had a
stove in it, whilst the other was the sleeping quarters for the men.
The gipsy children had all stopped their game and were clustered
around Zingra, watching her and Tim.
"I think I must be going now," Tom remarked at last, "they don't know
at home where I am; so I must say good-bye, Mrs. Lee. Come, Tim!"
"No, no!" cried Zingra, "me keep Tim!" And she held the dog tight
by his collar.
There was a general laugh at this, but Zingra was quite serious.
Tom, intensely amused, answered gaily: "Very well, then. That's
settled. Good-bye everybody!"
He did not speak to Tim again, but scarcely had he taken half-a-dozen
steps when there was an outcry from Zingra. Tim, the moment he had
seen his master turn his back on the Green, had struggled himself
free; he now bounded up to Tom and jumped against him in a state
of great excitement.
"Down, Tim, down!" cried Tom, laughing delightedly, and caressing
the little animal. "So you won't stay with the gipsies? Not likely!
I didn't think you would, my boy!"
There were two ways back to Chilaton, one way across country by which
Tom had come, the other by road, and the little boy chose to return
by the latter. His conversation with Mrs. Lee had quite dismissed
Peter Perry from his mind for the time, but as he neared Halcyon
Villa his thoughts reverted to him.
He was close to the big iron gates when he heard voices in the garden
within, and caught the words: "Yes, I know Bounce would not be likely
to lead you into danger, but please don't go away from the house
again without either myself or one of the servants is with you."
"Oh, all right, Aunt Harriet," Peter's voice answered submissively,
"I didn't intend to have been away so long. I'll keep in the garden
in future."
"Wants a nurse to look after him, evidently," Tom said to himself
as he passed on, "and he's as old as I am, I should think! What a
molly-coddle the fellow must be!"