“OH!” Margot sprang to her feet. Indignation and fury were in her eyes and in her voice. “Stella, they are hurting it!”
“What?” Stella, already half-turning in the direction of home, gave reluctant ear.
“What, indeed! It’s a child, of course. Oh, I knew quite well there was something up. Didn’t you hear those men mention the police? They’ve stolen it, or something. Anyhow, it’s unhappy. Listen!”
“Well, we can’t do anything. Not against two great men. And some of the gipsies are horrid. Margot, come on!”
“Come on, indeed!” said Margot, listening with might and main to the pitiful sobs.
“Let’s go back home, then, and we’ll fetch father,” suggested Stella.
“Why, you said your own self that he would be out to tea!” returned the downright Margot, quivering with rage. “You can go home, if you like, but I’m not coming. Why, before anyone gets back to help they might——”
Margot took a step in the direction of the tent.
“Oh, don’t be so stupid, Margot!” Stella seized her skirts. “They might do—anything to you! Oh, I wish you wouldn’t be so—so Australian! It’s not even sensible. One girl against two great gipsies! Even if you did go inside, what would you do?”
“I’d not be—one girl, if you came too,” Margot informed her. “Here, you’re right in one thing; we’d better get the men out of the tent, first, and then go in! Only, how....”