CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE GIPSY CAMP.
At this point a peculiar fragrance was borne to them upon the lightwind, the far-blowing smell of a wood-fire, together with the odour ofboiling and fragrant stew--a compound and delicious wild-wood scent,which almost created the taste by which it was to be enjoyed, as theysay all good literature must. There was also another smell, lessidyllic but equally characteristic--the odour of drying paint. Allthese came from the camp of the gipsies set up on the corner of thecommon lands of Windy Standard.
The gipsies' wood was a barren acre of tall, ill-nurtured Scotch firs,with nothing to break their sturdy monotony of trunk right up to thespreading crown of twisted red branches and dark green spines.Beneath, the earth was covered with a carpet of dry and brownpine-needles, several inches thick, soft and silent under the feet asvelvet pile. Ditches wet and dry closed in the place of sanctuary forthe wandering tribes of Egypt on all sides, save only towards the highroad, where a joggly, much-rutted cart track led deviously in betweenhigh banks, through which the protruding roots of the Scotch firs,knotted and scarred, were seen twisting and grappling each other likea nest of snakes. Suddenly, between the ridges of pine-trees, the paircame in sight of the camp.
"I declare," cried Hugh John, "they are painting the waggons. I wishthey would let me help. I can slick it on like a daisy. Now I'mtelling you. Andrew Penman at the coach-works in Church Street showedme how. He says I can 'line' as well as any workman in the place. I'mgoing to be a coach-painter. They get bully wages, I tell you."
"I thought you were going to be a soldier," commented Cissy, with thecool and inviting criticism of the model domestic lady, who is alwayson hand with a bucket of cold water for the enthusiasms of hermen-folk.
Hugh John remembered, saw his mistake, and shifted his ground all inthe twinkling of an eye; for of course a man of spirit ought never toown himself in the wrong--at least to a girl. It is a bad precedent,occasionally even fatal.
"Oh yes, of course I am going to be a soldier," he said with thehesitation of one who stops to think what he is going to say; "but I'mto be a coach-painter in my odd time and on holidays. Besides,officers get so little pay now-a-days, it's shameful--I heard myfather say. So one must do something."
"Oh, here's the terrier--pretty thing, I declare he quite knowsme--see, Hugh John," cried Cissy, kneeling with delight in her eye,and taking hold of the little dog, which came bounding forward to meether--stopping midway, however, to paw at its neck, to which theChianti wicker-work still clung tightly round the edge of the bandage.
Billy Blythe came towards them, touching his cap as he did so in ahalf-military manner; for had he not a brother in the county militia,who was the best fighter (with his fists) in the regiment, the pest ofhis colonel, but in private the particular pet of all the otherofficers, who were always ready to put their money on Gipsy Blythe toany amount.
"Yes, miss," he said; "I done it. He's better a'ready, and as livelyas a green grass-chirper. Never seed the like o' that ointment. 'Tisworth its weight in gold when ye have dogs."
A tall girl came up at this moment, dusky and lithe, her face and necktanned to a fine healthy brown almost as dark as saddle-leather, butwith a rolling black eye so full and piercing that even her complexionseemed light by comparison. She carried a back load of tinware of allsorts, and by her wearied air appeared to be returning to theencampment after a day's tramp.
"Ah, young lady and gentleman, sure I can see by your eyes that youare going to buy something from a poor girl--ribbons for the hair, orfor the house some nice collanders, saucepans, fish-pans, stew-pans,patty-pans, jelly-pans----"
"SHE CARRIED A BACK LOAD OF TINWARE."]
"Go 'way, Lepronia Lovell," growled Billy; "don't you see that this isthe young lady that cured my dog?"
"And who may the young gentleman be?" said the girl. "Certain I amI've seen him before somewhere at the back o' beyant."
"Belike aye, Lepronia, tha art a clever wench, and hast got eyes inthe back o' thee yead," said Billy, in a tone of irony. "Do you notknow the son of Master Smith o' t' Windy Standard--him as lets us bideon his land, when all the neighbours were on for nothing else butturning us off with never a rest for the soles of our feet?"
"And what is his name?" said the girl.
"Why, the same as his father of course, lass--what else?" cried Billy;"young Master Smith as ever was. Did you think it was Blythe?"
"'Faith then, God forbid!" said Lepronia, "ye have lashin's of thatname in them parts already. Sure it is lonesome for a poor orphan likeme among so many Blythes; and good-looking young chaps some o' themtoo, and never a wan o' ye man enough to ask me to change my name, andgo to church and be thransmogrified into a Blythe like the rest ofyez!"
Some of the gipsies standing round laughed at the boldness of thegirl, and Billy reddened. "I'm not by way of takin' up with no Paddy,"he said, and turned on his heel.
"Paddy is ut," cried the girl indignantly after him, "'faith now, andit wad be tellin' ye if ye could get a daycent single woman only halfas good lookin' as me, to take as much notice av the likes o' ye as tokick ye out of her road!"
She turned away, calling over her shoulder to Cissy, "Can I tell yourfortune, pretty lady?"
Quick as a flash, Cissy's answer came back.
"No, but I can tell yours!"
The girl stopped, surprised that a maid of the Gentiles should tellfortunes without glass balls, cards, or even looking at the lines ofthe hand.
"Tell it then," she said defiantly.
"You will live to marry Billy!" she said.
Then Lepronia Lovell laughed a short laugh, and said, "Never whilethere's a daycent scarecrow in the world will I set up a tent-stickalong with the likes of Billy Blythe!"
But all the same she walked away very thoughtful, her basketful oftinware clattering at her back.
After the fox-terrier had been examined, commented upon, and dulydressed, Billy Blythe walked with them part of the way homeward, andHugh John opened out to him his troubles. He told him of the feudagainst the town boys, and related all the manifold misdeeds of theSmoutchies. All the while Billy said nothing, but the twitching of hishands and a peculiarly covert look about his dusky face told that hewas listening intently. Scarcely had Hugh John come to the end of histale when, with the blood mounting darkly to his cheeks, Billy turnedabout to see if he were observed. There was no one near.
"We are the lads to help ye to turn out Nipper Donnan and all hiscrew," he said. "Him and his would soon make short work of us gipsiesif they had the rights of castle and common. Why, Nipper's father iswhat they call a bailie of their burgh court, and he fined my fatherfor leaving his horses out on the roadside, while he went for a doctorwhen my mother was took ill a year past last November."
Hugh John had found his ally.
"There's a round dozen and more of us lads," continued Billy, "that'ud make small potatoes and mince meat of every one of them, if theywas all Nipper Donnans--which they ain't, not by a long sight. I knowthem. A fig for them and their flag! We'll take their castle, andwe'll take it too in a way they won't forget till their dying day."
The gipsy lad was so earnest that Hugh John, though as much as everbent upon conquering the enemy, began to be a little alarmed.
"Of course it's part pretending," he said, "for my father could putthem out if we were to tell on them. But then we won't tell, and wewant just to drive them out ourselves, and thrash them for stealingour pet lamb as well!"
"Right!" said Billy, "don't be afraid; we won't do more than just givethem a blazing good hiding. Tell 'ee what, they'll be main sore fromtop to toe before we get through with 'em!"