“Probably there are some people on the road. Here now, jump in. We have to stay till he tells that we are free to go out.”
For half an hour they remained hidden. They could hear outside strange voices and the passing of some vehicle.
“This is funny,” observed Clarence.
“Do you know, Clarence, that since I joined the gypsies I have never seen a stranger’s face till you came yesterday?”
Clarence meditated for a moment.
“Oh!” he said presently, and with his most engaging smile. “It was worth your while waiting, wasn’t it?”
CHAPTER VIII
In which Clarence enters upon his career as a gypsy, and makes himself a disciple of Dora.
Clarence learned in the course of that day a good deal of his companions. It was a divided camp. Pete was the official leader, but his authority was weak. He was a dried-up man with furtive eyes and hang-dog aspect. He had a genius for breaking the law and getting into trouble. If there were twenty ways of doing a thing, Pete invariably chose the least honest. His range as a thief went from chickens to horses. In this, as in all other things, he was ably abetted by his shrewish wife. That remarkable woman had a gift for fortune-telling which was uncanny. It was not without reason that Dora suspected Pete’s wife of having dealings with the devil. The woman had an intense hatred for anything that savored of the Catholic faith. Her eyes, whenever they fell upon Dora, shot forth a baneful light. It was Ben who stood between the child and her malignity.
Ben was of different mould. He was brave, open and kind. A certain gentleness and refinement were observable in him and his wife. Dora noticed these things and pointed them out to Clarence. But she did not tell him, for she did not know it, that it was her presence, her example, her sweetness and modesty, which had, to a great extent, developed in the gypsy couple these lovely qualities.