worthy of record, gipsies
were allowed to pitch their tents, the author of "Romany Rye"
and "Lavengro" mingling freely with them. As a novel, the
"Romany Rye" is preferred by many readers to any of Borrow's
other works.

_I.--The Roving Life_

It was, as usual, a brilliant morning, the dewy blades of the rye-grass
which covered the plain sparkled brightly in the beams of the sun, which
had probably been about two hours above the horizon. Near the mouth of
the dingle--Mumpers' Dingle, near Wittenhall, Staffordshire--where my
friend Isopel Berners and I, the travelling tinker, were encamped side
by side, a rather numerous body of my ancient friends and allies
occupied the ground. About five yards on the right, Mr. Petulengro was
busily employed in erecting his tent; he held in his hand an iron bar,
sharp at the bottom, with a kind of arm projecting from the top for the
purpose of supporting a kettle or cauldron over the fire. With the sharp
end of this he was making holes in the earth at about twenty inches
distance from each other, into which he inserted certain long rods with
a considerable bend towards the top, which constituted the timbers of
the tent and the supporters of the canvas. Mrs. Petulengro and a female
with a crutch in her hand, whom I recognised as Mrs. Chikno, sat near
him on the ground.

"Here we are, brother," said Mr. Petulengro. "Here we are, and plenty of
us."

"I am glad to see you all," said I; "and particularly you, madam," said
I, making a bow to Mrs. Petulengro, "and you also, madam," taking off my
hat to Mrs. Chikno.

"Good-day to you, sir," said Mrs. Petulengro. "You look as usual,
charmingly, and speak so, too; you have not forgot your manners."

"It is not all gold that glitters," said Mrs. Chikno. "However,
good-morrow to you, young rye."

"I am come on an errand," said I. "Isopel Berners, down in the dell
there, requests the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro's company at
breakfast. She will be happy also to see you, madam," said I, addressing
Mrs. Chikno.

"Is that young female your wife, young man?" said Mrs. Chikno.

"My wife?" said I.

"Yes, young man, your wife--your lawful certificated wife?"

"No," said I. "She is not my wife."

"Then I will not visit with her," said Mrs. Chikno. "I countenance
nothing in the roving line."

"What do you mean by the roving line?" I demanded.

"What do I mean by the roving line? Why, by it I mean such conduc