[Illustration: The girl simply lifted the latch and entered without
ceremony.
LASS. PAGE 20.
]
A Little Gipsy Lass
A STORY OF MOORLAND AND WILD
By
GORDON-STABLES, M.D., C.M., R.N.
Author of
'Peggy M'Queen,' 'The Rover Caravan,' &c.
WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS
by
William Rainey
LONDON: 47 Paternoster Row
W. & R. CHAMBERS, LIMITED
EDINBURGH: 47 Paternoster Row
1907
Edinburgh:
Printed by W. & R. Chambers, Limited.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LOTTY LEE 1
II. HOW ANTONY HAPPENED TO BE THERE 11
III. IN GIPSY CAMP AND CARAVAN 18
IV. 'EVER BEEN AN INFANT PRODIGY?' SAID LOTTY 34
V. THE QUEEREST SHOW.--A DAY IN THE WILDS 47
VI. 'THERE IS THAT IN YOUR EYE WHICH CRONA LOVES' 59
VII. POOR ANTONY WAS DROWNING! 69
VIII. THE MYSTERY OF THE MERMAN 79
IX. 'THE NEW JENNY WREN' 90
X. A LETTER AND A PROPOSAL 99
XI. BLOWN OUT TO SEA 111
XII. 'OUT YONDER, ON THE LEE BOW, SIR' 121
XIII. ON BOARD THE 'NOR'LAN' STAR' 132
XIV. A LITTLE STRANGER COMES ON BOARD 142
XV. 'I WANT TO DREAM THAT DREAM AGAIN' 154
XVI. SAFELY BACK TO ENGLAND 163
XVII. LIFE ON THE ROAD IN THE 'GIPSY QUEEN' 172
XVIII. SNOW-BOUND IN A MOUNTAIN-LAND 182
XIX. SPORTING-TIME IN WOODS AND WILDS 193
XX. IN THE DARK O' THE NEAP 204
XXI. THE WRECK OF THE 'CUMBERLAND' 214
XXII. THE AMBITIONS OF CHOPS JUNIOR 226
XXIII. 'WELL, CHOPS, TO RUN AWAY' 236
XXIV. 'I SAVED IT UP FOR A RAINY DAY' 248
XXV. 'WE'VE GOT A LITTLE STOWAWAY HERE, GUARD' 260
XXVI. THAT CROOKED SIXPENCE 272
XXVII. 'GAZE ON THOSE SUMMER WOODS' 283
XXVIII. 'HO, HO, HO! SET HIM UP' 290
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
The girl simply lifted the latch and entered without
ceremony _Frontispiece._
Then that huge brown bear began to dance 50
He found himself in the water next moment ... with the
_Jenny Wren_ on her side 71
And they had special tit-bits which they took from her
hands 92
Presently the black hull of the bark was looming within
fifty yards over her 129
'Father, father,' she cried, 'I cannot, _will not_ do this' 224
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A Little Gipsy Lass.
CHAPTER I.
LOTTY LEE.
The young man stood on the deserted platform of the small, north-country
station, just where the train had left him, on that bright August
evening. Yonder she was speeding east-wards against the breeze.
Against the breeze, and along towards the cliffs that o'erhung the wild,
wide sea, the end of the last carriage gilded with the rays of the
setting sun, the smoke streaming backwards and losing itself over the
brown-green woods that stretched away and away till lost in a haze at
the foot of the hills.
He hailed a solitary porter.
'This isn't a very inviting station of yours, Tom, is it?'
'An awful good guess at my name, sir,' said the man, saluting.
'Your name is Tom, then?'
'No, sir--George,' he smiled. 'But any name does; and as for the
station, weel, it's good enough in its way. We only tak' up or pit doon
by signal. But you'll be English, sir?'
'That's it, George; that's just it. I'm only English. But, so far, I am
in luck; because I understand your talk, and I thought everybody here
ran about raw, with kilts on and speaking in Scotch.'
'So they do, sir, mostly; but I've been far south myself. No, sir, no
left-luggage room here; but if you're going to the inn I'll carry your
portmanteau, though ye'll no' find much accommodation there for a
gentleman like yourself. Besides, it's the nicht of the fair, and
they'll be dancin' and singin' in the road till midnicht.'
'But,' said the stranger, 'I'm bound for Loggiemouth, if I can only find
the way. I'm going to a gipsy encampment there--Nat Lee's or Biffins'.
You know Nat Lee?'
'Well, and curly-headed Lotty too. But, man, you'll have ill findin'
your road over the moor the nicht. It's three good Scotch miles, and
your portmanteau's no' a small weight--a hundred and twenty pounds if an
ounce.'
This young man, with the sunny hair, square shoulders, and bravely
chiselled English face, seized the bag with his left hand and held it
high above his head, much to the admiration of the honest porter.
'You're a fine lad, sir,' said the latter. 'An English athlete, no
doubt. Weel, we all love strength hereabouts, and Loggiemouth itself
can boast of bonny men.'
'Here!' cried the stranger abruptly, as he looked to the west and the
sun that was sinking like a great blood-orange in the purple mist of the
woodlands, 'take that portmanteau, George, in your own charge. I suppose
you live somewhere?'
'I'll lock it up in the lamp-room, sir. It'll be safe enough there.'
'Well, thanks; and to-morrow I'll either stride over for it myself or
send some one. Now, you'll direct me to the camp, won't you?'
'Ay, ay, sir, and you've a good stick and a stout heart, so nothing can
come o'er ye. But what way did nobody meet you, sir?'
'Nat Lee said he would send some one, but--hallo! who is this?'
She ran along the platform hurriedly but smiling--a little nervously
perhaps, blinking somewhat moreover, for the sun's last beams lit up her
face and eke her yellow hair. Her colour seemed to rise as she advanced.
Blushing? No. Lotty Lee was barely twelve.
'Oh, please, sir, are you Mr Blake?'
'I am. And you?'
'Me? I'm only Lotty Lee, and that's nobody. But father sent me to meet
you, and lead you home to our pitch across the Whinny Moor. You couldn't
find the way by yourself, never, never, _never_!'
'Good-night, sir.--Good-night, Miss Lotty,' cried the porter, throwing
the portmanteau on his shoulder and marching off with it.
'Well,' said the young fellow, 'I have a sweet little guide anyhow; but
are you sure that even you can find the way yourself, Lotty?'
'Oh yes, Mr Blake, please.'
Hers was a light, musical, almost bird-like laugh.
She tossed back her head a little, and all those impossible little
crumply curls caught by the evening breeze went dancing round her brow
and ears.
'If you have any--any big thing, I will carry it for you, sir.'
It was his turn to laugh now. 'Why, Lotty,' he said, 'I shouldn't wonder
if I had to carry you before we get to camp.'
'Come,' she answered, with an uneasy glance at the west. She took his
hand as if he'd been a blind man. 'Father said I was to lead you, sir.'
'But I don't think he meant it in so literal a sense, Lotty. I think I
can see for quite half an hour yet.'
He kept that warm hand in his, nevertheless. So on they went, chatting
together gaily enough now, for she did not seem a bit afraid of her tall
companion.
'I would have been here much sooner, you know, but Wallace followed me.
Wallace is a very naughty boy sometimes, and father doesn't like him to
be out of camp at nights.'
'And where is the young gentleman now?'
'Oh, I had to take him back, and that is what kept me.'
It was getting early dark to-night, and one great star was already out
in the east. Whinny Moor was beginning to look eerisome enough. The
patches of furze that everywhere hugged the ground were like moving
shapes of strange and uncanny antediluvian monsters, and here and there
stood up the dark spectre of a stunted hawthorn-tree waving black arms
in the wind as if to forbid their approach.
Sometimes they had to creep quite sideways through the bushes of sturdy
whins and bramble; sometimes the moor was more open, and here and there
were little lakes or sedgy ponds of silver sheen, where black things
swam or glided in and out among the rustling rushes. Flitter-mice darted
over their heads or even between them, and from the forest now and then
came the doleful cry of the great barn-owl.
'On the whole,' said young Blake, 'I'm glad you came, Lotty. I doubt if
ever I could have made my way across this moor.'
'Nor through the forest yonder. Ah! the forest is much worse, Mr Blake.'
'Dark and dismal, I suppose?'
'It is dark; I don't know about dismal, Mr Blake. But I know all the
road through this moor; because when things come to the station father
often sends me for them.'
'At night?'
'Oh yes, often at night. Only, there is a little winding path through
among the pine-trees, and one day Chops went in daylight and marked all
the trees in white paint for me. But father thrashed him for it, because
white paint is one of the show properties, and we mustn't waste the
properties. But I cried for Chops.'
'And who is Chops, Lotty?'
'Oh, Chops is the fat boy; he is a property himself, but nobody could
waste him.'
'No?'
'No; and Chops is fifteen, you know, and so good and so fond of me; but
he is so fat that he can't look at you, only just blinks over his
cheeks. But Chops is so kind to me--quite loves me. And so does Wallace.
But I love Wallace better than anybody else, and everybody else loves
Wallace.'
'And Wallace and everybody love Lotty, I'm sure of that.'
'Oh, Wallace loves me, and would die for me any day. But, of course,
everybody doesn't. I'm only just a property, you know.'
'But your father and mother?'
Frank Antony Blake felt the small, soft hand tremble in his.
'There is no mother, sir. Never was a mother in my time. But father'----
The child was crying--yes, and sobbing--as if her heart would break.
Then, though Frank Antony was tall and strong for his eighteen years, he
didn't really know what to do with a girl who burst into tears at night
on a lonesome moor. He could remember no precedent. It mightn't be
correct, he thought, to take her in his arms and kiss her and try to
soothe her, so he merely said, 'Never mind, Lotty; never mind. It is
sure to come all right somehow.'
For the life of him, however, he couldn't have told you what was wrong
or what there was to come right. In the fast-waning light Lotty looked
up at him ever so sadly, and he could not help noticing now what he had
not noticed before--Lotty was really a beautiful child.
'You talked to me so kindly like,' she said, 'and hardly anybody does
that, and--and that was it. Don't talk to me kindly again, sir, ever,
ever, ever!'
He patted her hand.
'That's worse,' said Lotty, feeling she wanted to cry again, and she
drew the hand away. 'You'll have me crying again. Speak gruff to me, as
others do, and call me "Lot!"'
But at that moment Antony had a happy inspiration. He remembered that in
his big coat-pocket he had a large box of assorted chocolates, and here
close by on a bare part of the moor was a big white stone.
'Come,' he cried, 'there is no great hurry, and I'm going to have some
chocolates. Won't you, Lot?'
Down he sat on the big white stone, and Lotty stood timidly in front of
him. But Antony would not have this arrangement, so he lifted her bodily
up--'how strong he is!' she thought--and seated her beside him, then
threw a big handful of the delicious sweets into her lap.
She was smiling now. She was happy again. It was not the chocolates that
worked the change; but the chance companionship of this youth of gentle
blood, so high above her, seemed to have wakened a chord long, long
untouched in that little harp of a heart of hers.
Was it but a dream, or had there been once a time, long--ever so
long--ago, when voices quite as pleasant and musical and refined as
Antony's were not strange to her? And had she not, when young--she was
twelve now, and that is so old--lived in a real house, with bright
cushions on real sofas, and lamps and mirrors and flowers everywhere?
No, that must have been a dream; but it was one she often dreamt while
she swung by night in her cot, as the winds rocked the caravan and
lulled her to sleep.
The autumn evening was very beautiful now; bright stars were shining so
closely overhead that it seemed as if one could almost touch them with
a fishing-rod. Besides, a big, nearly round moon had managed to scramble
up behind the bank of blue clouds in the east--a big, fat face of a moon
that appeared to be bursting with half-concealed merriment as it blinked
across the moor.
It wasn't the lollies that had enabled Lotty to regain her good spirits;
but she felt quietly happy sitting here on the stone beside this newly
found friend. Oh yes, he was going to be a friend; she felt certain of
that already. Young though Lottie was, she had a woman's instinct.
Perhaps she possessed a woman's pride as well, though only in embryo;
for she felt half-ashamed of her awkward, bare brown legs that ended not
in shoes but rough sandals, and of the pretty necklace of crimson hips
and haws that she had strung for herself only yesterday.
They had been sitting in silence for some time, both thinking, I
suppose, when Lotty's keen ear caught the weary call of some benighted
plover.
'They'll soon be away now!' she sighed, more to herself than to her
companion.
'What will soon be away, Lotty?'
'Oh, the plovers and the swallows and the greenfinches, and nearly all
my pretty pets of springtime, and we'll have only just the rooks and the
gulls left.'
Antony laid his hand on hers.
'Lotty loves the wild birds, then?'
'I--I suppose so. Doesn't everybody? I wish I could go south with the
birds in autumn, to lands where the flowers are always blooming.'
'Who knows what is before you, child!'
The child interested him.
'Look, Lotty, look!' cried Antony next moment; 'what on earth can that
be?'
He was genuinely startled. About two hundred yards from the place where
they sat a great ball of crimson-yellow fire, as big as a gipsy pot,
rose slowly, waveringly, into the air. It was followed by five others,
each one smaller than the one above it. They switched themselves towards
the forest, and one by one they went out.
'It is only will-o'-the-wisps,' said Lotty, 'and they always bring good
luck. Aren't you glad?'
'Very,' said Antony.
Then, hand in hand, as if very old acquaintances indeed, they resumed
their journey. And, as they got nearer and nearer to the forest, the
tall pine-trees, with brown, pillar-like limbs, grew higher and higher,
and finally swallowed them up.