When Burns arrived at the lodge, piloted by Mat, he showed the latter into a dilapidated smoking-room, where he told him to make himself at home, whilst he sought the housekeeper, and bidding her take in some refreshments, followed her into the room, then seating himself, he prepared to learn more of the independent young Forester. With that end in view, he remarked, “We have not much time to spare, either for eating or talking, but, by-the-bye, what’s your name, and where do you live?”
“My name’s Mat Stanley,” was the answer, “and we’re camped down to Wootton.”
“Oh! gipsies, that’s a free life, any way.”
“Yes, pretty well, but I zeem to want a freer one.”
“More liberty than gipsies have?” returned Burns, “why, how do you mean?”
“Do you know Squire Bell?” continued Mat. “No? well, he lives t’other zide of Wootton, been all his life forrin—in Australia—and he says as I should get on there well. He gave me two books, which I carries about with me, they’re all about Australia, and I know ’em pretty nigh by heart. I’ve had the whole run of his library and museum, and bin over ’em times without number. And Joe Broomfield, that’s he as the colt belongs to, he’s got a brother out there whot’s getting 1l. for every colt as he breaks in, and plenty of grub found him besides. Fact is, I’d like to go out if I had the money.”
The subject evidently appeared to excite the otherwise taciturn gipsy, and kindled a certain amount of enthusiasm in Burns, who, however, responded,—
“What, go and leave all your tribe, and live in the Bush amongst black fellows?”
“Oh! I don’t mind leaving my tribe, I might zee ’em again some day, and then they’re a-going to make new laws here, and not let gipsies camp in one place more’n a few days together. I’d like to get away, and the squire he says I shall, only I want to work a bit of money together first to pay my passage out.”