So saying, he sought in one of the carts for a moment; and drawing forth what is called a cut-and-thrust sword, buckled it under his coat, took the path to the lowest part of the park wall, and, vaulting over, was lost to the sight of his companions.
His orders, however, were now as promptly obeyed as if he had been present. Each of the gipsies who were destined immediately for the wood hastened to unload the carts as fast as possible. The women took their children on their backs, and large bundles in their hands; the men charged themselves with the heavier packages; and the carts, greatly lightened, having set off in the direction assigned to them, the rest of the party proceeded across the common towards the wood. They set off silently, and in straggling parties, that their footsteps might not betray their path; but they had not gone far ere the tongue of the old woman was heard, addressing one of the men who walked near her--at first in few words and a low tone, but gradually increasing in power and volubility as it became encouraged by its own sound.
"He's a cruel, hard hand, that Pharold," said she, looking carefully round. But her companion made no reply, and she went on: "It's a hard thing for poor Dickon to be sent out to starve or be hanged, just because he was a spirity lad, and had different notions from that Pharold." Still the other was silent. "I often do wonder," she continued, "how a number of strong hearty men, every one a better man than Pharold, should submit to be led, and bullied, and ill-treated, by an ill-looking thief like that, only because he comes from our old dukes that are dead and gone.[[5]] It's all your own faults. If two or three of you were but to lay your heads together, and to say--"
"Come, come, you old rip," broke forth the man angrily, "none of such talk to me, if you have not a mind to be pitched into that pond. Hold your tongue, now, and give us no more of it. I am not one of your Dickons to be made a fool of; and if I hear you saying another word of such matters, I will have you sent after him you have got turned out from among us."
Muttering a few words about "tame fools," Mother Gray slunk behind, and for a little while walked on in silence, only interrupted by occasional internal grunts and growls, expressive of her dissatisfaction and wrath. From time to time, however, she cast her eyes towards the straggling parties of her companions to the right and left; and for a while her attention seemed principally directed towards a group of two or three, who walked on immediately upon her right, and among whom was one of those who had accompanied Dickon in his unfortunate expedition. But on the left, again, was a line of four or five other gipsies, principally women, followed by Lena, two or three steps behind the rest, with a large handkerchief cast over her head, and tied beneath her chin, in a manner which would have concealed the greater part of her beautiful face, even if it had been day, but which now served to veil it entirely from all observation. Her head leaned forward, however: it was evident, too, that her eyes were cast upon the ground; and from these, and many another little symptom, the beldam, as she gazed upon her, concluded, and concluded rightly, that she was weeping. She hesitated no longer which of the two parties to join; but, dropping slowly behind, she sidled quietly up to Lena, almost unperceived by the girl herself. After walking on a step or two by her side in silence, she ventured to say, in a dolorous and sympathizing tone, "Poor Bill! only to think!" Lena started, and for a moment said nothing in reply; but after awhile she asked, "Do you think they have caught him, Mother Gray?"
"Ay, ay, they must have grabbed him," replied the other; "else he would ha' been back 'afore this time. Poor Bill! he was as handsome a spirity young chick as ever I set eyes on."
There was something in hearing him spoken of in the past tense, as of one gone for ever, that brought a deep sigh from Lena's bosom; and the old worker of mischief went on, satisfied that she was now, at least, upon the right track. "Ah, poor Bill!" she said; "there was only one that was fit to match with him among us, and she was snapped up by a kite before her right mate could come to her."
Lena took no notice of her allusion, though it was sufficiently direct; but asked, "What do you think they will do to him, Mother Gray, if they have caught him?"
"Hang him, perhaps," replied the old woman, "or at all events send him to what they call the colonies, to work their work like a slave--that's to say, if no one gets him out; but if he is so minded, Pharold, who is so sharp, will get him out fast enough."
"If Pharold can get him out," replied Lena, rousing herself at the name of one whom she revered, if she did not love--"if Pharold can get him out, he will not be long in."