“SHOSHOI.”
“You never know,” she replied, “but I’ve known folks as ought to bin doin’ something better, sneak about and lie hidin’ in the bushes to hear what us Romanies was talking about, but our ears are better than theirs, so we know they’re listenin’, and we talk for their benefit.”
“Why don’t you rokkra Romany so they couldn’t understand?” I queried.
“’Cos we wants the dinneloes to understand,” she answered.
“So that you may play the fool with them,” I added.
“That’s it,” she assented, unblushingly; “if they expects to catch us nappin’ they’re mistaken. So we settles it we’re going to catch shoshoi at a certain place. The man in the bushes hears it and off he goes and lies in wait for us. Where do we go? Why another way, of course, and then we have rabbit—but talkin’s all very well, my Rye, but we haven’t lit the fire yet and the kettle ought to be bilin’; have you got a light?”
She gathered together some pieces of paper and a number of sticks and tried to get a fire going, but it was of no use, the material was damp.
“Bust the thing!” ejaculated my companion; “rum stuff to light a fire with—I got wet through the other day getting some of it too. Didn’t I catch cold? bless you no; shouldn’t know what to do with one if I had it.”
I congratulated her on her immunity.