"Yes, gitano—same thing."
Humphrey put a great many more questions to the lad, and elicited from him, in his imperfect English, the following particulars:
That he was in company with several others of his race, going down to the sea-coast on one of their usual migrations, and that they had pitched their tents not far from the pitfall. That during the night he had gone out to set some snares for rabbits, and going back to the tents, it being quite dark, he had fallen into the hole; that he had remained there three days and nights, having in vain attempted to get out. His mother was with the party of gipsies to which he belonged, but he had no father. He did not know where to follow the gang, as they had not said where they were going, farther than to the sea-coast. That it was no use looking for them; and that he did not care much about leaving them, as he was very unkindly treated. In reply to the question as to whether he would like to remain with them, and work with them on the farm, he replied that he should like it very much if they would be kind to him, and not make him work too hard; that he would cook the dinner, and catch them rabbits and birds, and make a great many things.
"Will you be honest, if we keep you, and not tell lies?" said Edward.
The lad thought a little while, and then nodded his head in the affirmative.
"Well, Pablo, we will try you, and if you are a good lad we will do all we can to make you happy," said Edward; "but if you behave ill we shall be obliged to turn you out of doors: do you understand?"
"Be as good as I can," replied Pablo; and here the conversation ended for the present.
Pablo was a very short-built lad, of apparently fifteen or sixteen years of age, very dark in complexion, but very handsome in features, with beautiful white teeth and large dark eyes; and there was certainly something in his intelligent countenance which recommended him, independent of his claim to their kindness from his having been left thus friendless in consequence of his misadventure. Humphrey was particularly pleased with and interested about him, as the lad had so nearly lost his life through his means.
"I really think, Edward," said Humphrey, as they were standing outside of the door of the cottage, "that the lad may be very useful to us, and I sincerely hope that he may prove honest and true. We must first get him into health and spirits, and then I will see what he can do."
"The fact is, my dear Humphrey, we can do no otherwise; he is separated from his friends, and does not know where to go. It would be inhuman, as we have been the cause of his misfortune, to turn him away; but although I feel this, I do not feel much security as to his good behavior and being very useful. I have always been told that these gipsies were vagrants, who lived by stealing all they could lay their hands upon; and, if he has been brought up in that way, I fear that he will not easily be reformed. However, we can but try, and hope for the best."