Yet on this special occasion Dan devoured none of his delicacies, but contented himself with dry bread, broiled bacon, and capital tea. With an appetite sharpened by keen air and long walks, he performed Homeric feats in the way of eating. For Peter a mutton-bone was provided, and he too proved a valiant trencher-dog--if such a term be allowable. There have been worse meals than that enjoyed by those two in the lonely dell, and when Dan finished his bacon and Peter his bone, both were thoroughly content.
[CHAPTER II.]
PALMISTRY.
Supper despatched, Dan repaired to the spring for a second bucket of water, while Peter remained selfishly curled up beside the fire. Even when his master returned he took little notice of what was going on, feeling no interest in proceedings unconnected with his appetite.
Dan gave Simon another drink, patted his neck and saw that his halter was safe, then went into the caravan. Thence he emerged with a fur rug, and spreading this beside the fire, he stretched himself thereon with a contented sigh.
And now came in the "sweet o' the night," for Dan pulled out and charged a well-seasoned briar. This was the crowning joy of the day, and Dan envied neither king nor kaiser as he luxuriated in the Indian weed. Simon cropped the sweet grass near at hand; Peter, filled to repletion, snored with wakeful eye in the warmest place; and Dan smoked and read. And what think you he read, but Borrow's glorious "Lavengro?"--the most fitted book for such a gipsy, for such a situation. By the red firelight he read for the hundredth time that ever-new story of the Dingle, of Isopel, and of lovemaking in the Armenian tongue. What magic courtship! "Robinson Crusoe" for boys, but "Lavengro" for men--the more especially for those who incline to gipsydom, and find life flavourless save when on road or heath, under hedge or beside a camp-fire. For such Borrow's books have the authority of Scripture.
In Birrel's happy phrase, Dan was "a born Borrovian." His face was alive with pleasure as he conned the magic page, nor did he fail to compare the situation of Lavengro with his own.
"This might well pass for the Dingle," said he, letting the book fall. "I am certainly Lavengro in real life; but, alas! where is my Isopel? And did I find her, would it be possible to teach her lovemaking in the Armenian tongue? I am ignorant of such recondite matters; therefore it were best that no Isopel, with ready fist and sharp tongue, invade my privacy. Yet I would not mind meeting with the Flaming Tinman." Here he looked at his mighty arm. "I would do my best to thrash him. But woe is me! there is no Borrow to chant my victory."
Such a speech, akin to blank verse, was doubtless inspired by Borrovian periods; but who ever heard a gipsy soliloquize thus, or saw one peruse the chronicle of that modern Ulysses? Dan asserted that he was no gentleman, yet in looks, in words, breeding would out, and Mother Jericho was as clever as the rest of her sex in detecting a palpable fraud. Yet what did this soi-disant vagrant in the pinewood dell reading "Lavengro" by a camp-fire? Ah, that is a long story, and cannot be told at present.
Simon cropped, Peter snored, and Dan was immersed in the account of that Homeric fight between Lavengro and the Flaming Tinman. So profoundly was he interested, that he heard not the approach of stealthy footsteps. But Peter was on the alert, and sprang into the darkness with angry yelp. Roused by the signal of danger, Dan arose to his feet and stood on the defensive, for one meets with adventures in England as in Timbuctoo.