ad heard the very words which I at
first thought I had distinguished.

I turned my head; at the entrance of the footpath, which might be about
thirty yards from the place where I was sitting, I perceived the figure
of a young girl; her face was turned towards me, and she appeared to be
scanning me and my encampment; after a little time she looked in the
other direction, only for a moment, however; probably observing nothing
in that quarter, she again looked towards me, and almost immediately
stepped forward; and, as she advanced, sang the song which I had heard in
the wood, the first words of which were those which I have already
alluded to:--

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

A very pretty song, thought I, falling again hard to work upon my kettle;
a very pretty song, which bodes the farmers much good. Let them look to
their cattle.

"All alone here, brother?" said a voice close by me, in sharp but not
disagreeable tones.

I made no answer, but continued my work, click, click, with the gravity
which became one of my profession. I allowed at least half a minute to
elapse before I even lifted up my eyes.

A girl of about thirteen was standing before me; her features were very
pretty, but with a peculiar expression; her complexion was a clear olive,
and her jet black hair hung back upon her shoulders. She was rather
scantily dressed, and her arms and feet were bare; round her neck,
however, was a handsome string of corals, with ornaments of gold: in her
hand she held a bulrush.

"All alone here, brother?" said the girl, as I looked up; "all alone
here, in the lane; where are your wife and children?"

"Why do you call me brother?" said I; "I am no brother of yours. Do you
take me for one of your people? I am no gypsy; not I, indeed!"

"Don't be afraid, brother, you are no Roman--Roman indeed, you are not
handsome enough to be a Roman; not black enough, tinker though you be. If
I called you brother, it was because I didn't know what else to call you.
Marry, come up, brother, I should be sorry to have you for a brother."

"Then you don't like me?"

"Neither like you, nor dislike you, brother; what will you have for that
kekaubi?"

"What's the use of talking to me in that unchristian way; what do you
mean, young gentlewoman?"

"Lord, brother, what a fool you are; every tinker knows what a kekaubi
is.