OLD HANSON MOVES
Mrs. Bonnell was sure something was wrong in the Gypsy camp. So were the
girls. So much so that none of them listened with much attention to the
jargon poured fourth by the various fortune tellers.
There was the usual talk about how each one had had trouble—which was
true enough—and that each one was to have more which, perhaps, in the
nature of events, was still more true. But “all would come out well in
the end;” and then, too, was talk of dark-haired strangers—and
light-haired ones—of the male variety—who would play more or less havoc
with hearts and minds.
But through it all the girls felt sure there was an undercurrent of
worriment in the camp. At times some of the men would get up and move
off, accompanied by a dog or two.
Some took horses with them, sitting lazily on the bare backs of the
nags, cross-fashion, too slovenly, it seemed to ride astraddle, or even
to throw on a sack for a saddle. Whether they rode out to do some
trading, or on another errand was not disclosed.
Then, too, when Mrs. Bonnell had finished with her fortune, in which,
truth to tell, she was not much interested, a young man, handsome enough
in his Gypsy fashion, hurried into the camp. He strode into the tent of
Neezar, the Queen, before Mrs. Bonnell had fished the change out of her
net purse, and began an excited utterance in some unknown
tongue—probably the Gypsy argot—which sounded like Bohemian.
“Cha!” was the only word the old Gypsy uttered, but it was enough and
sent the abashed young man out of the tent in a hurry, his flow of talk
ceasing.
“Their everlasting quarrels—what have I to do with them? They are ever
at me to settle their disputes!” exclaimed Neezar. “I will have none of
it,” and she looked at Mrs. Bonnell shrewdly. “It was about a horse,”
she needlessly explained. “The young men are much trouble.”
“And you rule over them also,” asked the Guardian.
“Yes, over all.”
“And did Hadee dispute your authority?”
It was a shrewd guess Mrs. Bonnell thought, for the aged Gypsy looked at
her suspiciously.
“What do you know of Hadee?” came the quick question.
“Very little. She told the fortune of a friend of mine, and I thought I
should like to have her tell my own.”
“Perhaps she will—when she comes back,” replied the Queen, and Mrs.
Bonnell thought there was a twinkle in the deep-set eyes. “Hadee told
fortunes very well.”
“Would hers be any different from the one you have told me?”
“How could it—your fortune is your fortune—always the same. No one can
change it, though one person might reveal more than another—perhaps
reveal more than would be good for you. You have suffered—I can see it.
You have had a loss.”
That was evident, for Mrs. Bonnell, in spite of the fact that she had
laid aside black for the attire of the Camp Fire Girls, while in the
woods, still kept her jet earrings and the simple little black pin at
her throat. It needed no prophetess to tell that she had suffered.
“When do you think Hadee will come back?” asked the Guardian.
“How can we tell? We Gypsies are not like you white folks, lady. We do
strange things. We were born to wander and we wander. Doubtless Hadee
will come back—when she chooses.”
“Are her parents here?”
“They are dead. Now I beg your pardon, but I must see to my camp. There
is much to do, though we lead a simple life. Ah! the others have had
their fortunes told,” and she opened the tent for her visitor who saw
Natalie and the other girls emerging from the other little canvas
houses, gaudily decorated, and painted with the various names of the
“Princesses” who deigned, for a small piece of silver, to tear aside the
curtain of the future.
Mrs. Bonnell saw Neezar hurry over to the young man who had shown such
excitement, and then the Guardian went up to Natalie, about whom the
other girls clustered.
“Tell us what she said, Nat,” urged Mabel.
“It wasn’t anything—really.”
“Did she tell you how soon you were going to get married?”
“I never am!”
“Oh!” came in a chorus of protest, and Natalie blushed.
Then they told each other snatches of what had been revealed to them.
They all agreed it was not at all like the fortunes Hadee had told them
the time the diamond ring was missed. Then, as they walked through the
camp, on the way to where they had left their lunch-baskets, they became
aware that the excitement was increasing, though the Gypsies did their
best to make it seem of little moment.
Several men leaped on horses and rode off down the road, and one of the
young “Princesses” started off on foot at a rapid pace in the opposite
direction.
“What could have happened?” asked Marie.
“Maybe they’ve got word that they are going to be arrested,” suggested
Mabel.
“No, I think it can’t be that,” said Mrs. Bonnell.
“They’d all be leaving if they were going to be raided,” said Natalie.
“Well, we’ll tell that constable, who nearly arrested you, Nat, where to
find the camp,” suggested Alice. “He may be able to get back Mrs.
Anderson’s ring.”
“Oh, I hope so!” exclaimed Mabel, “but I’m not very sanguine.”
“Won’t the boys be surprised when we tell them that we located the
Gypsies?” asked Marie.
“And vexed, too,” added Alice. “They were so sure they would find the
camp themselves.”
They passed from the bounds of the encampment, and were soon on their
way to where they had left their boats, stopping when they reached the
deep spring to partake of the rest of their lunch, for it was certain,
now, that they would not get lost, and the shadows had not much
lengthened.
“We’ll get back to camp long before supper,” said Mabel.
“I wonder what could be going on back there?” mused Marie.
“And what has happened to poor Hadee?” spoke Natalie. “She was a pretty
little thing. I hope she isn’t in trouble.”
“She looked able to take care of herself,” said Alice.
“Well, certainly there is something wrong,” declared Mrs. Bonnell. “That
one who called herself a queen was really anxious to get rid of me, and
Gypsies seldom do that if you have money.”
They discussed the matter from various standpoints, but could come to no
decision. They rowed back leisurely, well satisfied, in a measure, with
their day’s outing.
“Let’s stop off and see how Old Hanson is getting on at the mysterious
mill,” suggested Natalie. “Poor old man—to think he took me for some one
he knew.”
“Natalie is keeping quite in the lime-light since we came to camp,”
laughed Marie. “Well, let’s go, it’s early yet.”
They turned their boats toward the shore of the lake where the old mill
was, and, in due time, were walking toward the ancient structure.
As they neared it they heard a confusion of voices, and the rattle of
goods being loaded into a wagon. Also admonitions to horses to “stand
still, can’t yer?”
“What can be going on?” asked Mabel.
They soon saw. In front of the mill was a farm wagon, and old Hanson and
another man were carrying the hermit’s goods from the shack, and putting
them in the vehicle.
“Why, Mr. Rossmore!” exclaimed Mrs. Bonnell, as she and the girls came
up, “are you moving?”
“Yes, ma’am, and I can’t git away any too soon.”
“Where are you going?” asked Mabel.
“Over on Mr. Applebaum’s farm. It was his wife that the Gypsies robbed
of a pocket-book,” he added. “I’m going to live with him. He’s a sort of
second cousin of mine.”
“Then you’re going to desert the dear old mill.”
“Yes, ma’am. I wouldn’t stay here another night—not if you was to give
me fifty dollars—yes or seventy-five dollars. No, sir!”
“Why, what is the trouble?” asked Natalie, yet by instinct she seemed to
anticipate the answer.
“The hant; that’s what the matter. It’s gittin’ wuss. I wouldn’t stay
here another night. I’m done!”
“The hant,” repeated Marie, not quite understanding.
“He means the haunt,” exclaimed Mabel in a whisper.
“Oh!”
“Yes, ma’am—the ghost,” went on Old Hanson. “Th’ hant. It’s drove me
out, and I never thought it would. I thought I could stand most
anything, but it’s got terrible bad lately.”
“How—what does er—it—do?” faltered Mrs. Bonnell. Somehow, it seemed
rather uncanny to talk about the matter.
“Oh, it goes on something terrible!” exclaimed the old hermit. “Groans
and cryin’ in the middle of the night, an’ movin’ about—takin’ things——”
“Taking things?”
“Yep—lots of my things has disappeared—my blankets and some of my grub—I
ain’t goin’ t’ stand it; I’m movin’!”
“Does—it—really groan?” asked Mabel, and she could not repress a shiver.
“Yes, ma’am, it do. An’ cries, too. I heard it all last night, an’ I
couldn’t sleep. And when I go in the old mill day-times, something like
a cold wind brushes past me.”
“Maybe it _is_ a cold wind,” suggested Alice. “I’m sure the old place
must be draughty enough.”
“It wa’n’t no wind,” affirmed the old man, as he piled a chair on top of
his scanty belongings in the wagon. The other—evidently a hired man—did
not talk, except to the horses.
“So I’m goin’ t’ pull out,” went on Old Hanson. “Th’ mill’s mine—sech as
’tis—but the hant can have it if it wants it. I’ve got no use fer it. I
want t’ sleep in peace nights. Sech groans—sech cries—you never heard
th’ like.”
Something like a cold chill seemed to pass over the girls as they looked
up at the old mill. And then Natalie set their nerves more in a flutter
by suddenly exclaiming:
“There! Look there! At the upper window. I’m sure I saw a face!”