t the south! you talk like a fool, David, and if you go on
in that way I shall be angry with you. However, I'll excuse you; you are
from the north, and what can one expect from the north but nonsense? Now
tell me, do you of the north eat and drink like other people? What do
you live upon?"

"Why, as for myself," said I; "I generally live on the best I can get."

"Let's hear what you eat; bacon and eggs?

"Oh yes, I eat bacon and eggs when I can get nothing better."

"And what do you drink? Can you drink ale?"

"Oh yes," said I; "I am very fond of ale when it's good. Perhaps you
will stand a pint?"

"Hm," said the man looking somewhat blank; "there is no ale in the Pandy
and there is no public-house near at hand, otherwise--Where are you going
to-night?"

"To Gutter Vawr."

"Well, then, you had better not loiter; Gutter Vawr is a long way off
over the mountain. It will be dark, I am afraid, long before you get to
Gutter Vawr. Good evening, David! I am glad to have seen you, for I
have long wished to see a man from the north country. Good evening! you
will find plenty of good ale at Gutter Vawr."

I went on my way. The road led in a south-eastern direction gradually
upward to very lofty regions. After walking about half-an-hour I saw a
kind of wooden house on wheels drawn by two horses coming down the hill
towards me. A short black-looking fellow in brown-top boots, corduroy
breeches, jockey coat and jockey cap sat on the box, holding the reins in
one hand and a long whip in the other. Beside him was a swarthy woman in
a wild flaunting dress. Behind the box out of the fore part of the
caravan peered two or three black children's heads. A pretty little foal
about four months old came frisking and gambolling now before now beside
the horses, whilst a colt of some sixteen months followed more leisurely
behind. When the caravan was about ten yards distant I stopped, and
raising my left hand with the little finger pointed aloft, I exclaimed:

"Shoon, Kaulomengro, shoon! In Dibbel's nav, where may tu be jawing to?"

Stopping his caravan with considerable difficulty the small black man
glared at me for a moment like a wild cat, and then said in a voice
partly snappish, partly kind:

"Savo shan tu? Are you one of the Ingrines?"

"I am the chap what certain folks calls the Romany Rye."

"Well, I'll be jiggered if I wasn't thinking so and if I wasn't penning
so to my juwa as we were welling down th