"Oh, well, I'll take something anyway. May I have some daffodils out of the garden? I can give them to some one else if Zula is not there."
"You may have some of them."
"Rock is going to take his camera and see if he can get some snap-shots of the gipsies," Florence told them.
"Won't that be fine? Good-bye dearest, loveliest mamma. I wish you were going too."
"I couldn't very well go this morning. I have several things to attend to at home."
Over the same way that Eleanor had traveled with weary feet that November day, they went this fair morning in April, and it was not long before they saw ahead of them the gaily painted wagons of the gipsies. "There they are!" cried Florence. "Can we drive up real close? I never saw a gipsy camp before. I think the people look very queer."
"I shouldn't mind traveling around the country in a wagon like that," Rock declared, as he caught sight of the odd little houses on wheels.
"Now we are going to stop," said Eleanor. "Grandpa, will you ask if Zula is here. I want to see her."
But grandpa was attracted by the sight of a little pony under a tree. He nodded to one of the men lounging near, and asked him: "Is that pony for sale?"
The man looked around uncertainly. "Marco is boss. I'll tell him," he said; and a grave-faced young man soon came up to the carriage.