son's
child will come and see you again; you are not going away to-day, I hope,
or to-morrow, pretty brother, grey-haired brother--you are not going away
to-morrow, I hope?'

'Nor the next day,' said I, 'only to take a stroll to see if I can sell a
kettle; good-bye, little sister, Rommany sister, dingy sister.'

'Good-bye, tall brother,' said the girl, as she departed, singing

'The Rommany chi,' etc.

'There's something about that girl that I don't understand,' said I to
myself; 'something mysterious. However, it is nothing to me, she knows
not who I am, and if she did, what then?'

Late that evening as I sat on the shaft of my cart in deep meditation,
with my arms folded, I thought I heard a rustling in the bushes over
against me. I turned my eyes in that direction, but saw nothing. 'Some
bird,' said I; 'an owl, perhaps'; and once more I fell into meditation;
my mind wandered from one thing to another--musing now on the structure
of the Roman tongue--now on the rise and fall of the Persian power--and
now on the powers vested in recorders at quarter-sessions. I was
thinking what a fine thing it must be to be a recorder of the peace,
when, lifting up my eyes, I saw right opposite, not a culprit at the bar,
but, staring at me through a gap in the bush, a face wild and strange,
half covered with grey hair; I only saw it a moment, the next it had
disappeared.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

FRIEND OF SLINGSBY--ALL QUIET--DANGER--THE TWO CAKES--CHILDREN IN THE
WOOD--DON'T BE ANGRY--IN DEEP THOUGHT--TEMPLES THROBBING--DEADLY
SICK--ANOTHER BLOW--NO ANSWER--HOW OLD ARE YOU?--PLAY AND
SACRAMENT--HEAVY HEART--SONG OF POISON--THE DROW OF GYPSIES--THE DOG--OF
ELY'S CHURCH--GET UP, BEBEE--THE VEHICLE--CAN YOU SPEAK?--THE OIL

The next day, at an early hour, I harnessed my little pony, and, putting
my things in my cart, I went on my projected stroll. Crossing the moor,
I arrived in about an hour at a small village, from which, after a short
stay, I proceeded to another, and from thence to a third. I found that
the name of Slingsby was well known in these parts.

'If you are a friend of Slingsby you must be an honest lad,' said an
ancient crone; 'you shall never want for work whilst I can give it you.
Here, take my kettle, the bottom came out this morning, and lend me that
of yours till you bring it back. I'm not afraid to trust you--not I.
Don't hurry yourself, young man, if you don't come back for a fortnight I