_In which the strange tale of Dora, another victim of the
Bright-eyed Goddess, is told to Clarence._
When Clarence awoke the next morning, it dawned upon him very slowly
that he was in the firm grasp of a stronger hand, and, without any
effort on his part, walking up and down the greensward at a pace not
unworthy of a professional walker. A further survey brought to his
notice the gypsies grouped together and eyeing him with interest. At her
tent door, Dora, fresh as a dew-washed rose, stood laughing at him
heartily. It was Ben, he also realized, who, holding him by arm and
collar, was causing him to walk with such tremendous strides.
“I say, Ben, drop it. Let me go. What’s the matter?”
“I’ve been trying to wake you for five minutes,” said Ben smiling and
puffing. “I rolled you over first where you were lying in the wagon, and
shouted and pounded you; and when you didn’t show any signs of life, I
thought you were dead.”
“Well, I’m alive all right,” said Clarence, and, as Ben freed him from
an iron grasp, proceeded to rub his eyes.
Pete, who had just brought the horses to the wagon, where his two older
sons took them in charge, came running over, snarling like a wildcat,
and seizing the boy by both shoulders shook him without mercy. How long
the punishment would have lasted, had it depended upon Pete, is
problematic; for Clarence, now thoroughly awakened, cleverly slipped
down to the ground and sprang between the Gypsy leader’s legs. As he did
so, he thoughtfully humped himself in transit, with the result that Pete
measured his length on the earth.
“I wish,” gasped Clarence, “that you’d _tell_ me what you want. I’m not
a deaf mute.”
Pete sprang for a stick in the bushes; but before he had quite made up
his mind which to choose, Ben whispered remonstratingly in his ear. Ben
was angry and determined. Bestowing a look of strong disfavor on
Clarence, Pete gave an order of some kind to his company, who at once
proceeded to break up camp.
“You go and help Dora,” said Ben.
“Good morning, Clarence. How do you feel?” asked the child with a smile
and the extended hand of welcome. The roses of dawn were upon her
cheeks.
“Feel! I’m sleepy. Why, it is hardly daylight.”
“We always travel early in the morning; it is cooler, and there are not
so many people about. Towards noon we camp in some quiet place,
generally by the river side; and then about four we go on, again, and
keep on going sometimes till it’s too dark to see. Come on now,
Clarence; we’ve got to work fast, or Pete will be down on us.”
Under Dora’s direction, Clarence made himself quite useful. He was quick
and intelligent. The two had their share of the work finished several
minutes before the others.
“Where are we going?” asked Clarence.
“We’re going to zigzag, I suppose,” laughed Dora. “We’ll strike into the
country for four or five miles, and then we’ll strike back again, and by
the time we’ve pitched our camp tonight at the riverside we may be six
or seven miles—at the most ten—further up the river than we are now.”
“Do we ride or walk, Dora?”
“It’s this way: the women and the children stay in the wagon. Pete takes
the wagon too, now and then. The men walk and keep a lookout all the
time. I generally walk myself; but sometimes I ride. Ben told me that I
could walk with you any time I wanted.”
“Ben’s all right,” said Clarence.
In the splendor of a roseate dawn, the party set out. For an hour they
pushed into the interior, when, reaching a deeply wooded grove, they
halted for breakfast. Within half an hour they were upon their way
again; Pete and one of his sons in the advance, then the wagon, behind
it Clarence and Dora with Ben and the other gypsies bringing up the
rear. The road they were pursuing was overgrown with weeds and
neglected—a road, evidently, where few ventured.
“Say, I never enjoyed a breakfast more in my life than that one. Bacon
and eggs! I kept on eating them till I saw Pete looking at me pretty
hard; and then I just had to quit. You must know, Dora, I’m a very
bashful youth.”
“You took five eggs and lots of bacon,” said the candid girl, “and I
don’t know how much bread. This morning before you got up, two of the
gypsies traded your boat for over fifteen dollars’ worth of provisions.
You say you are a bashful youth. I’m glad you told me, for I’m very sure
I would never have found it out myself.”
“I manage to conceal all my virtues,” returned the affable lad, smiling
broadly. “And now, Dora, if it is all the same to you, I wish you’d be
good enough to tell me how you came to be here.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, we’ve plenty of time, and if you can stand telling it, I reckon I
can stand listening. Were you kidnapped?”
“That’s a hard question to answer, Clarence. The best way will be for me
to begin at the beginning.”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, when I was seven years old I made my first Holy Communion. You
know what that means, don’t you?”
“I know what you people believe,” answered Clarence. “I’ve read a lot
about it. But, say, do you really believe that Christ is present, and
that what looks like bread is really His body?”
“Of course I do!” cried Dora resolutely.
“But why?”
“Because Our Lord told us so. That is faith, we believe on the word of
God.”
“Well, go on, Miss Theology.”
“After making my first Communion, I started to go every day and I never
missed once for over two years. We lived just a little outside of
Dayton, Ohio, and I had to walk a mile to the church.”
“You did—and fasting?”
“Of course, and I just loved to go. Last April it was raining almost all
the time. It was often hard to get even to church, and the rivers and
streams around Dayton kept rising higher and higher. People said that if
the rain didn’t stop, there would be a terrible flood. Well, the rain
didn’t stop, and one day in May after three days of terrible rain I went
to church, received Communion and started home.”
“Were you alone?”
“I was that morning. Generally some one of the family came with me; but
the ground was so muddy that morning that my big sister who had intended
coming with me backed out.”
“If I’d been there, I’d have gone with you,” volunteered her gallant
companion.
“Anyhow, I had hardly got more than half a mile towards my home, when a
man and two women came running past me. They were very scared-looking
and out of breath. As they passed me the man said, ‘The dam! the dam!
It’s broken! Run for your life!’ Just then a lot of other people came
running, and I turned around, and do you know what I saw?”
“What?” cried Clarence.
“Men and women and children all running towards me, and further
back—maybe it was two or three miles—a sort of a wall of water, and it
was moving towards me.”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Clarence. “What did you do?”
“I started to run and I did run. After a while, I got so out of breath
that I began to stagger. I looked behind and it seemed to me that the
wall of water was getting closer, and I started to run again. Somehow I
hit my foot against a log and fell, rolling over to one side of the
road, and when I tried to get up I couldn’t use my foot. I had turned my
ankle.”
“Oh, I say,” exclaimed Clarence, “What did you do then?”
“I was scared, and I began to cry.”
“I’d have done that myself,” commented the boy.
“Then I got on my knees and, while the people in crowds were hurrying
past me on the road—you see I was to one side where I had fallen—I
cried ‘Oh, my dear Mother Mary, be my mother now and save me.’”
“And she did it?” asked the boy.
“I was still kneeling when there came dashing towards me a man on
horseback. He saw me and checked the horse, and as he passed me he
leaned over like a circus man and caught me up, and then set the horse
at breakneck speed, and then I fainted.”
“Gee!” said Clarence.
“The next thing I knew I opened my eyes to find myself in a gypsy camp.
It was Ben who had saved me. He had just paid Pete’s fine and got him
out of the workhouse. They were all in a hurry to get away, because they
were afraid Pete might be arrested for something else he had done. So
they started off. Ben told me he would send me back to my parents just
as soon as they had pitched camp for the evening. And he meant it too.
But when evening came, and he started to get his horse ready, Pete made
a fuss, and Pete’s wife stood by him. They all got very angry. Then
Pete’s boys took their father’s side. Indeed I thought there was going
to be a fight. In the long run, Pete had it all his own way, and Ben
came to me and told me to wait a little longer on account of the flood.
And I’ve been waiting ever since.”
“Four months?” said Clarence.
“Yes; and never a word from my mother or father. I don’t know whether
they are living or dead. Often I cry at night; but then I think of my
Blessed Mother and I stop.”
“I don’t blame you for crying,” said Clarence. “And I’ll bet your
parents think you’re drowned.”
“There were ever so many people drowned in that flood, I have heard,”
said Dora. “Anyhow I ought to be grateful to God for sparing my life.”
“I say, Dora. We’re both in the same boat. You know when I was shoved
out into the river in my swimming suit, my clothes were lying on the
shore. I’ll bet my ma is crying now.” And Clarence rubbed his shirt
sleeves over his eyes.
“I miss my brothers and sisters so much,” continued the girl. “Ben and
his wife are good and kind, but I do get so homesick. Sometimes I am so
lonely.”
“I haven’t got any sisters to miss me,” pursued the boy. “I had two, but
both of them were travelling with pa once in Mexico and they drank some
polluted water and died of typhoid fever within two days of each other.
And my little brother died when he was five. And now my father and
mother will think I am dead, too.”
Again Clarence used his shirt sleeves to wipe his brimming eyes.
“Sometimes Clarence, I dream that I’m home again and that mama is
holding me in her arms and kissing me, and then I’m so happy till I
wake; and then sometimes I dream that I’m receiving Holy Communion, and
I’m as happy as can be.”
“You are?” said Clarence.
“Of course. Why, I have not received Our Lord for months, and I’m—I’m
just hungry for Him.”
“Dora, you are a good fellow.”
“You told me that last night.”
“Do you know that I’m thinking seriously of adopting you?”
“What?” cried the girl.
“Adopting you. I’m short on sisters, and you could help to fill the
supply.”
“Oh, thank you; you think I’ll do, do you?”
“You’ll do first rate,” answered Clarence tranquilly and failing to
detect the mischief in Dora’s glance. “First chance we get to see a
lawyer, we’ll have it fixed up. Say, is there no way for us to escape?”
“I’m afraid not; you’ll see for yourself as we go on.”
At this point of the conversation, Pete came running towards them, and
catching Dora’s eye, held up his hand.
“What does he want?” Clarence inquired.
“That’s his sign to tell us to get in the wagon.”
“What for?”
“Probably there are some people on the road. Here now, jump in. We have
to stay till he tells that we are free to go out.”
For half an hour they remained hidden. They could hear outside strange
voices and the passing of some vehicle.
“This is funny,” observed Clarence.
“Do you know, Clarence, that since I joined the gypsies I have never
seen a stranger’s face till you came yesterday?”
Clarence meditated for a moment.
“Oh!” he said presently, and with his most engaging smile. “It was worth
your while waiting, wasn’t it?”