It seemed a good beginning of a friendship, and Susan was sorry when Mrs. Lee turned round in the doorway and said:
“Here comes my man with the van. You will be home in no time now.”
Through the woods stepped Mr. James Lee leading a bony gray horse, which was drawing a gypsy van, gay with bright red and green and black paint. He opened the door in the back of the van and helped the children in.
“My pail,” said Phil, clutching his slippers. “I’ve lost my pail.”
Mrs. Lee disappeared into the tent, and came out in a moment with Phil’s pail—empty! No wonder the big boy, busy eating Phil’s berries, had turned his back in the corner of the tent.
“Don’t cry, Phil. You shall have half my berries. Don’t cry. We’re going home.” And Susan waved vigorous good-byes to Mrs. Lee and Gentilla, held back by her aunt from following Susan into the van.
Mr. Lee carefully led his horse through the woods to the muddy road, and then, sitting up in front, drove his old “gry” up the hill toward Featherbed Lane.
In the meantime Susan and Phil were looking round the van in surprise and delight.
“It’s like a little playhouse,” said Susan, squeezing Phil’s hand. “Oh, I wish I lived in a gypsy van all the time.”
Opposite the door, in the very front of the van, were two beds, one above the other like berths on a ship, and broad enough, each one, to hold three or four gypsy children at once, if need be, and as, in fact, they very often did. There was a little cookstove, whose pipe wandered out of the side of the van in a most unusual way. And alongside the stove was a table, hanging by hinges from the wall. A high chest of drawers and two chairs completed the furniture of the van, which looked very much like a state-room and felt somewhat like one, too, as it swayed over the hillocks and ruts in the road.