“What’s this! And where’s ’er dada, eh? What! You ’ere; and what be you doing, whoever you be, in honest folkses homes?”
“It’s——” Stella turned, with shaking knees, to face the speaker.
“Speak up, now! How did you get in, I’d like to know; with me on’y away at doctor’s to arsk ’im to step up. An’ leaving the baby’s dada in charge, an’ all. And now—what’s this? ’Ere, give the baby to me!”
“I didn’t want to, I’m sure! And—I’m the rector’s daughter, if you want to know,” added Stella grandly. “And the baby was crying horribly. We just.... Is it crying because it’s ill?” she suddenly inquired.
“Rector’s daughter, eh? I’m sure I begs yer pardon, miss.” The gipsy was evidently impressed. “An’ if so be as you stopped to quieten the baby, I’m sure you’re kindly welcome. But what with these ’ere spots coming out all over it, an’ it being so fretful, and the police being that keerful on account of all the scarling fever what’s about—coming round the camp, they did, an’ tellin’ us as we was to notify ’em if it starts—well, we dursn’t go on to Rowsley Fair, we dursn’t, without the doctor said we might. An’ there’s three times this blessed day as I’ve bin down to doctor’s. An’ now he’s on his way up, an’ he ses that sure as fate it’s the scarling fever. What with the ’orspital for the baby; and the men ’aving lorsted Rowsley Fair with it all——”
The woman began to weep.
“What!” yelled Stella.
It was the last word that she uttered within the gipsy tent. The next was addressed to Margot, whom she met returning speedily over the moor in the direction of the camp.
“The men have got the horses back all right,” she shouted. “I say—What! d’you mean to say you haven’t got the baby?” she finished up angrily.
Her questions were interrupted by the torrents of Stella’s wrath.