like his tail. Did you
observe what a mean scrubby tail he has?' 'What a fool you are,
brother,' said Mr. Petulengro; 'that very tail of his shows his breeding.
No good bred horse ever yet carried a fine tail--'tis your scrubby-tailed
horses that are your out-and-outers. Did you ever hear of Syntax,
brother? That tail of his puts me in mind of Syntax. Well, I say
nothing more, have your own way--all I wonder at is, that a horse like
him was ever brought to such a fair of dog cattle as this.'

We then made the best of our way to a public-house, where we had some
refreshment. I then proposed returning to the encampment, but Mr.
Petulengro declined, and remained drinking with his companions till about
six o'clock in the evening, when various jockeys from the fair came in.
After some conversation a jockey proposed a game of cards; and in a
little time, Mr. Petulengro and another gypsy sat down to play a game of
cards with two of the jockeys.

Though not much acquainted with cards, I soon conceived a suspicion that
the jockeys were cheating Mr. Petulengro and his companion, I therefore
called Mr. Petulengro aside, and gave him a hint to that effect. Mr.
Petulengro, however, instead of thanking me, told me to mind my own bread
and butter, and forthwith returned to his game. I continued watching the
players for some hours. The gypsies lost considerably, and I saw clearly
that the jockeys were cheating them most confoundedly. I therefore once
more called Mr. Petulengro aside, and told him that the jockeys were
cheating him, conjuring him to return to the encampment. Mr. Petulengro,
who was by this time somewhat the worse for liquor, now fell into a
passion, swore several oaths, and asking me who had made me a Moses over
him and his brethren, told me to return to the encampment by myself.
Incensed at the unworthy return which my well-meant words received, I
forthwith left the house, and having purchased a few articles of
provision, I set out for the dingle alone. It was dark night when I
reached it, and descending I saw the glimmer of a fire from the depths of
the dingle; my heart beat with fond anticipation of a welcome. 'Isopel
Berners is waiting for me,' said I, 'and the first word that I shall hear
from her lips is that she has made up her mind. We shall go to America,
and be so happy together.' On reaching the bottom of the dingle,
however, I saw seated near the fire, not Isopel Berners, but a gypsy
girl, wh