nning.

Bewildered as he was by this new charge, he still remembered that if
speech was silver, silence was golden, and answered not a word.

"Baltasar," continued the strange man on horseback, rightly judging from
the gypsy's confusion that he had hit the mark and determining to take
another chance shot; "you stole this girl from the family of a Spanish
nobleman. I am the representative of this family and have followed your
trail for years. You thought I had come to get the horse. You were
mistaken; it was the girl!"

"Perdita!" exclaimed the gypsy, taken completely off his guard.

"Lost indeed," responded the quack, scarcely able to conceal his pride
in his own astuteness. And then he added slowly: "She must be a burden
to you, Baltasar. You evidently never have been able or never have dared
to take her back and claim the ransom which you expected. I will pay you
for her and take her from your hands. It is the child I want and not
vengeance."

"Ze Caballero muz be a Duquende (spirit)," gasped the gypsy.

"At any rate I want the child. You were reasonable about the horse. Be
reasonable about her, and all will be well."

"Ze Caballero muz be made of gol'."

The horseman drew a silver coin from his pocket and flipped it into the
waters of the brook.

The gypsy's face gleamed with avarice and springing into the water he
began to scrape among the stones where it had fallen.

The stranger watched him for awhile with an expression of mingled
amusement and contempt, and finally said: "Baltasar, I am in haste. You
can search for that trifle after I am gone. Let us finish our business.
What will you take for the girl?"

Still standing in the water, which he seemed reluctant to leave, he
shrugged his shoulders and replied: "We muz azk Chicarona. Zhe eez my
vife."

"And master?" asked the quack, smiling sardonically.

The gypsy did not answer, but, stepping from the brook and looking
backward, reluctantly led the way to the tent.

"Chicarona! Chicarona!" he cried as they approached it.

The flap of the tent was thrown suddenly backward, and three figures
emerged--a tall and stately woman, a little elfish child; and an old
hag, wrinkled, toothless and bent with the weight of unrecorded years.
The woman was the mother of the little child and the daughter of the old
hag.

"Chicarona," said the gypsy, "ze Gacho az byed ze ztallion for zwo
hunner an' viftee dollars, an' now he wanz to buy Pepeeta."

"Wad vor?" sh