"Oh, then you've spoken to Miss Perry's nephew? Tell me about him!"
"There's nothing to tell, except that he's called Peter Perry."
"Is he nice? Do you like him?"
"Like him? No!"
Nellie opened her eyes wide in surprise, for her brother's voice sounded quite fierce. They were walking homewards now, and a few minutes later they turned into the road, on one side of which was Ladysmith Terrace. As they did so they saw a caravan, painted yellow and red, and laden with brushes and baskets and tin-ware, going on ahead of them, drawn by a big grey horse, whilst a young gipsy woman was calling at each door of the terrace trying to make sales. "Isn't it a dear little home?" exclaimed Nellie, her gaze fixed with admiration on the gaudy caravan; "doesn't it look pretty and snug? I wish I could see what it is like inside."
They quickened their steps to overtake it, which they did easily, for it was going very slowly. A swarthy, black-eyed man was seated on the right shaft, driving; he was whistling a merry tune, and appeared the picture of contentment.
"Oh, look at the pretty little lace curtains in the windows!" cried Nellie. "Aren't they clean? And tied with pink ribbons, too!"
As she spoke the caravan came to a stop close to the pavement. The driver ceased whistling, jumped off the shaft, and proceeded to slip a nosebag over the horse's head. That done, he went to the back of the caravan and opened the door, whereupon a little girl, almost a baby, came out on the steps and flung herself into his arms. He laughed and kissed her, then set her on the ground; she immediately toddled around the caravan, and going up to the old grey horse, clasped one of his forelegs in her chubby arms. The animal ceased eating for a minute, turned his head and looked at her, then, by no means disturbed, went on with his meal. Much interested, Nellie and Tom stood by, watching.
"If I were you I should be afraid the horse would trample on her," Tom remarked, addressing the gipsy man; "I suppose she's your child, isn't she?"
"Yes," was the answer, "my only one. Old Bob trample on her? Not he! He's as quiet as a lamb. Zingra can do what she likes with him."