places, so they have evidently been
killed for food. The house was locked up last night, all right; for
you see they got in by breaking in a panel of the door.

"Robson, run down to the village, at once, and tell the policeman
to come up here; and ask if any gypsies, or tramps, have been seen
in the neighborhood."

The village lay at the gate of Captain Ripon's park, and the
gardener soon returned with the policeman.

"I've heard say there are some gypsies camped on Netherwood Common,
four miles away," that functionary said, in answer to Captain
Ripon.

"Put the gray mare in the dog cart, Sam. We will drive over at
once. They will hardly expect us so soon. We will pick up another
policeman, at Netherwood. They may show fight, if we are not in
strength."

Five minutes later, Captain Ripon was traveling along the road at
the rate of twelve miles an hour; with Sam by his side, and the
policeman sitting behind. At Netherwood they took up another
policeman and, a few minutes later, drove up to the gypsy
encampment.

There was a slight stir when they were seen approaching; and then
the gypsies went on with their usual work, the women weaving
baskets from osiers, the men cutting up gorse into skewers. There
were four low tents, and a wagon stood near; a bony horse grazing
on the common.

"Now," Captain Ripon said, "I am a magistrate, and I daresay you
know what I have come for. My fowl house has been broken open, and
some valuable fowls stolen.

"Now, policeman, look about, and see if you can find any traces of
them."

The gypsies rose to their feet, with angry gestures.

"Why do you come to us?" one of the men said. "When a fowl is
stolen you always suspect us, as if there were no other thieves in
the world."

"There are plenty of other thieves, my friend; and we shall not
interfere with you, if we find nothing suspicious."

"There have been some fowls plucked, here," one of the policemen
said. "Here is a little feather--" and he showed one, of only half
an inch in length "--and there is another, on that woman's hair.
They have cleaned them up nicely enough, but it ain't easy to pick
up every feather. I'll be bound we find a fowl, in the pot."

Two of the gypsies leaped forward, stick in hand; but the oldest
man present said a word or two to them, in their own dialect.

"You may look in the pot," he said, turning to Captain Ripon, "and
maybe you will find a fowl there, with other things. We bought 'em
a