moved about preparing the mid-day meal.

Occasionally they spoke, and their manner and words were kindly, but King
and Midget could not bring themselves to respond in the same way.

"King," whispered Marjorie, "how far do you suppose we are from the
road?"

"Too far to run there, if that's what you mean. We'd be caught before we
started," was the whispered reply.

"That isn't what I mean; but how far are we?"

"Not very far, Midget; after we crossed the little bridge, the path to
this place was sort of parallel to the road."

"Well, King, I've got an idea. Don't say anything, and don't stop me."

With a stretch and a yawn as of great weariness, Marjorie slowly rose.
Immediately the three women started toward her. "You sit still!" said
one, sharply.

"Mayn't I walk about the room, if I promise not to go out the door?" said
Marjorie; "I'm so cramped sitting still."

"Move around if you want to," said the youngest of the women, a little
more gently; "but there's no use your trying to run away," and she wagged
her head ominously.

"Honest, I won't try to run away," and Marjorie's big, dark eyes looked
gravely at her captor.

The women said nothing more, and Marjorie wandered about the tent in an
apparently aimless manner. But after a time she came near to a small slit
in the side of the tent that served as a sort of window, and here she
paused and examined some beads that hung near by. Then choosing a moment
when the women were most attentive to their household duties, she put her
head out through the window and _yelled_. Now Marjorie Maynard's yell was
something that a Comanche Indian might be proud of. Blessed with strong,
healthy lungs, and being by nature fond of shouting, she possessed an
ability to scream which was really unusual.

As her blood-curdling shouts rent the air, the three women were so
stupefied that for a moment they could say or do nothing. This gave
Marjorie additional time, and she made the most of it. Her entire lung
power spent itself in successive shrieks more than a dozen times, before
she was finally dragged away from the window by the infuriated gypsy
women.

Marjorie turned upon them, unafraid.

"I told you I wouldn't try to run away," she said, "and neither I didn't.
But I had a right to yell, and if anybody heard me, I hope he'll come
right straight here! You are bad, wicked women!"

The child's righteous indignation had its effect on the women, and they
hesitated, not knowi