“Nothing,” laughed Dora. “But if it hadn’t been for Pete’s being in the workhouse, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Tell me all about it, Dora.”
“I will—tomorrow. There’ll hardly be time tonight. You see, all these gypsies are on their way to join their own crowd somewhere further north in this State. We’ve been traveling up this way since last May—over four months.”
“How far have you traveled?”
“Ben told me that we’re about five hundred miles from where we started.”
“Five hundred miles! Let me think a minute.” Clarence began checking off on his fingers, murmuring at the same time under his breath.
“Why, good gracious!” he spoke out, presently. “You haven’t averaged much more than four miles a day.”
“Yes; but you ought to see the way we travel. We hardly ever go straight ahead. We generally zigzag. We cut across the country in one direction and then we cut across back again in another, always keeping near to the river. You see, we don’t like to meet people and we always dodge the towns and villages. I guess it’s partly my fault. They don’t want strangers to see me.”
“And I suppose they won’t want anybody to see me either,” said Clarence. “Say, did you ever try to break away?”
“I did in the beginning. Pete gave me an awful beating three different times; and I found it was no use.”