'Ah, but no doubt the little lady's father is at home at the big house yonder, and she can get a silver piece from him, and come back to the poor old gipsy.'
'He's gone to Warford this evening,' began innocent Bobby. 'There isn't anybody at home at all.'
But the more wary Peggy, seeing the folly of such revelations, gave him a nudge, and the emphatic hint: 'Shut up!'
'The pretty thing at the young lady's neck would do as well,' continued the woman in a wheedling voice, eyeing Peggy's brooch, 'or the little gentleman's silver chain. Oh, I won't keep them, missy; only hold them in my hand for a minute to influence the stars! You trust the poor gipsy, and she'll tell you what the future has in store for you.'
But Peggy and Bobby were not so simple as to be taken in by such palpable guile, and they walked on, with the old crone following persistently in their wake, at first clamouring for some trifle and then hurling curses at their heads. As she passed the encampment she said something in Romany, and one of the men sprang to his feet with a shrill whistle. The terrified children took to their heels, and I don't really know what might have happened, only fortunately the familiar figure of old Barlow, the village cobbler, appeared stumping down the road in the distance. He was not generally a very attractive person, being snuffy in appearance and crusty in temper, but to-night no fairy prince could have been more appreciated, and they flew to him, each seizing one of his horny hands with an enthusiasm which much surprised him. They were ever afterwards fully persuaded that but for his timely arrival they would have been robbed and murdered, and their bodies hidden away from their sorrowing relatives, like Eugene Aram's victim, or the little princes in the Tower, and they felt quite an affection for Barlow in consequence, so much so that Bobby determined to wear out his boots as fast as possible, that he might put some business in the old man's way.
Though Mr. Vaughan did not take quite such a serious view of the episode, he thought the gipsies were certainly undesirable additions to the countryside, and sent a hint to the local police, with the result that, when Peggy and Bobby screwed up their courage, and dared each other to go and have another peep at the encampment, they found the tent struck and the wanderers flown, with nothing to mark their passing visit but a few dirty pieces of paper and the ashes of the wood fire, though loud complaints from neighbouring farmers as to missing ducks and geese, and traces of snares found by the keepers in the preserves, showed that they had not gone away empty-handed.
The gipsies were soon forgotten in the excitement of cider-making, for the ripe piles of apples had been gathered into the big barn, and the children liked to watch the great press as its stone roller slowly crushed the fruit into pulp, and let the juice escape into the trough below. It always seemed a pity, Peggy thought, to make the nice apples into such horrid stuff as cider, and she was glad David stored so many away in the loft for winter use, and in the meantime she and Bobby consumed such quantities that Father declared they would both be breaking out into leaves and blossom in the springtime.
The blackberries were ripe, too, and there were many expeditions in search of them, mostly in their own fields, for the hedgerows abounded in the purple fruit, and Lilian's housekeeping soul was at present bent on jams and cordials.
One Saturday afternoon Peggy had had a long scramble through copse and bracken, over fences and along stubble fields, and had filled her big basket almost full, somewhat to the detriment of her costume and fingers, and she was now working her way home along the edge of the pasture, picking as she went. She had climbed up the bank to reach a particularly luscious looking cluster from the long, trailing brambles overhead, when voices below attracted her attention, and, peeping through the hedge, she saw two horsemen riding slowly along in the bridle-path beneath. The first was a lean, spare man, with gray side-whiskers and a slight stoop, whose rather sporting attire accorded ill with his sharp, keen face; while the second, the one on the better horse, was stout and ruddy of countenance, a man who looked as though he would be more at home in a bar-parlour than in a drawing-room, and who held himself with a complacent air, as one who is satisfied both with the world in general and himself in particular.
'That is the house,' said the first, reining in his horse just below where Peggy was standing, and pointing with his riding-whip at the Abbey. 'It's a fine old property, and has grand capabilities about it, too.'