n, handing to
Maggie a lump of dry bread, which she had taken from a bag of scraps,
and a piece of cold bacon.

"Thank you," said Maggie, looking at the food without taking it; "but
will you give me some bread and butter and tea instead? I don't like
bacon."

"We've got no tea nor butter," said the old woman with something like a
scowl.

"Oh, a little bread and treacle would do," said Maggie.

"We han't got no treacle," said the old woman crossly.

Meanwhile the tall girl gave a shrill cry, and presently there came
running up a rough urchin about the age of Tom. He stared at Maggie,
and she felt very lonely, and was quite sure she should begin to cry
before long. But the springing tears were checked when two rough men
came up, while a black cur ran barking up to Maggie, and threw her into
a tremor of fear.

Maggie felt that it was impossible she should ever be queen of _these_
people.

"This nice little lady's come to live with us," said the young woman.
"Aren't you glad?"

"Ay, very glad," said the younger man, who was soon examining Maggie's
silver thimble and other small matters that had been taken from her
pocket. He returned them all except the thimble to the younger woman,
and she immediately restored them to Maggie's pocket, while the men
seated themselves, and began to attack the contents of the kettle--a
stew of meat and potatoes--which had been taken off the fire and turned
out into a yellow platter.

Chapter IX.

THE GIPSY QUEEN ABDICATES.

Maggie began to think that Tom must be right about the gipsies: they
must certainly be thieves, unless the man meant to return her thimble
by-and-by. All thieves, except Robin Hood, were wicked people.

The women now saw she was frightened.

"We've got nothing nice for a lady to eat," said the old woman, in her
coaxing tone. "And she's so hungry, sweet little lady!"

"Here, my dear, try if you can eat a bit o' this," said the younger
woman, handing some of the stew on a brown dish with an iron spoon to
Maggie, who dared not refuse it, though fear had chased away her
appetite. If her father would but come by in the gig and take her up!
Or even if Jack the Giantkiller, or Mr. Greatheart, or St. George who
slew the dragon on the half-pennies, would happen to pass that way!

"What! you don't like the smell of it, my dear," said the young woman,
observing that Maggie did not even take a spoonful of the stew. "Try a
bit--come."

"No, thank yo