am the poor person's child, I will give you sixpence for the
kekaubi.'

'Poor person's child; how came you by that necklace?'

'Be civil, brother; am I to have the kekaubi?'

'Not for sixpence; isn't the kettle nicely mended?'

'I never saw a nicer mended kettle, brother; am I to have the kekaubi,
brother?'

'You like me then?'

'I don't dislike you--I dislike no one; there's only one, and him I don't
dislike, him I hate.'

'Who is he?'

'I scarcely know, I never saw him, but 'tis no affair of yours, you don't
speak Rommany; you will let me have the kekaubi, pretty brother?'

'You may have it, but not for sixpence; I'll give it to you.'

'Parraco tute, that is, I thank you, brother; the rikkeni kekaubi is now
mine. O, rare! I thank you kindly, brother.'

Starting up, she flung the bulrush aside which she had hitherto held in
her hand, and, seizing the kettle, she looked at it for a moment, and
then began a kind of dance, flourishing the kettle over her head the
while, and singing--

'The Rommany chi
And the Rommany chal
Shall jaw tasaulor
To drab the bawlor,
And dook the gry
Of the farming rye.

Good-bye, brother, I must be going.'

'Good-bye, sister; why do you sing that wicked song?'

'Wicked song, hey, brother! you don't understand the song!'

'Ha, ha! gypsy daughter,' said I, starting up and clapping my hands, 'I
don't understand Rommany, don't I? You shall see; here's the answer to
your gillie--

'The Rommany chi
And the Rommany chal,
Love Luripen
And dukkeripen,
And hokkeripen,
And every pen
But Lachipen
And tatchipen.'

The girl, who had given a slight start when I began, remained for some
time after I had concluded the song standing motionless as a statue, with
the kettle in her hand. At length she came towards me, and stared me
full in the face. 'Gray, tall, and talks Rommany,' said she to herself.
In her countenance there was an expression which I had not seen before--an
expression which struck me as being composed of fear, curiosity, and the
deepest hate. It was momentary, however, and was succeeded by one
smiling, frank, and open. 'Ha, ha, brother,' said she, 'well, I like you
all the better for talking Rommany; it is a sweet language, isn't it?
especially as you sing it. How did you pick it up? But you picked it up
upon the roads, no doubt? Ha, it was funny in you to pretend not to know
it, and you so flush with it all the