A gypsy against her will

by Emma Leslie

Jack was thankful indeed for these efforts made on his behalf; for as he was earning money now, if news came that the vans he was in search had appeared in a certain neighbourhood, he could go by railway to some point near the place, and so reach them before they had time to get away.

So he wrote and told his mother of all this, and that he thought he could not do better than stay where he was, as work was brisk; another thing, as winter was coming on now, they might be expected to turn up at their old quarters nearer home, in which case, they would doubtless soon hear of them and Lizzie too.

But, although he wrote thus hopefully to his mother, he could not help growing bitter against his sister as the weeks went on and no news came from her. Whatever her motive might have been for going away, surely she might have written a line to assure her mother of her safety. She could write, she knew her mother's address, whereas they were cut off from all knowledge of her or where she might be found.

She was a wicked cruel girl, he assured himself sometimes, and at others he made up his mind she had been killed or was kept in such close confinement somewhere that she could not communicate with anyone. On the whole, he was more inclined to take this view of the matter; in which case, he agreed she could not be travelling with this gypsy party, or she could surely find some opportunity of making her escape, if she had wished to do so, or of writing a letter if she had felt so disposed.

He and Lizzie had both attended Sunday-school; but it was small comfort to him at first to think of what he had learned there—that God cares for his people, and had promised to protect them in all dangers and difficulties.

Lizzie had learned this; but she had clearly placed herself in the way of temptation and danger, and how could she expect that God would take care of her then. At length, however, he began to understand, through his own love for the silly wilful girl, that God would not cease to care for her and protect her because she had been foolish and wilful, but it might well be that he would punish her for what she had done; and who could tell, but that in letting her have her own way for a little while, he was going to teach her the folly of her wilfulness and discontent? For Jack knew all about this, and had often tried to reason her out of it.

This view of the matter comforted the poor fellow a good deal; and when he kneeled down at night, he never failed to pray for Lizzie as well as his mother and father, beseeching God to guide and protect her wherever she might be, and to bring her home safely at last. It helped to make him patient under this long weary waiting for news. For although he contrived to go to several fairs during the autumn, in the hope of seeing the Stanley vans, they never appeared at any of the places, and, indeed, it seemed as though the whole company had vanished from the sight of living men.

If the police had only tried to trace them when they first went away, they would doubtless soon have been found. But they scouted the notion of gypsies running off with a girl of fifteen, and never would entertain it, though Mrs. Betts went to them with the scrap of rag Jack had found, and assured them it was a piece of one of Lizzie's frocks. They questioned and cross-questioned her as to where this piece of stuff had been found, and when they learned that it had been picked up on a common at some distance, and not in the immediate neighbourhood of the fair-folks, they simply declined to take any action in the matter, and assured the anxious mother that these people were not likely to have run away with her daughter.

Meanwhile poor Lizzie was having a hard time of it, and, in addition to the actual hardships of her lot, was most unhappy now upon her mother's account; for she felt sure that her mysterious disappearance would be a source of great anxiety to her. She had not thought of this at all at first. But then it must be remembered that she anticipated having a fortune soon after she left home; and to be able to write and tell her mother she was a rich lady would compensate her, she thought, for any anxiety she might have suffered.

Lizzie had learned by this time how vain that hope had been from the very first. It was hard to give it up—to think that the miserable life she had entered upon was to have no end. But when she thought of her mother, and the unhappiness she had caused her, she could not but feel that it was a just punishment for her ingratitude and discontent.