the ground in the vicinity of the mouth of the dingle. About five yards on the right I perceived Mr. Petulengro busily employed in erecting his tent; he held in his hand an iron bar, sharp at the bottom, with a kind of arm projecting from the top for the purpose of supporting a kettle or cauldron over the fire, and which is called in the Romanian language “Kekauviskoe saster.” With the sharp end of this Mr. Petulengro was making holes in the earth at about twenty inches’ distance from each other, into which he inserted certain long rods with a considerable bend towards the top, which constituted no less than the timbers of the tent, and the supporters of the canvas. Mrs. Petulengro and a female with a crutch in her hand, whom I recognised as Mrs. Chikno, sat near him on the ground, whilst two or three children, from six to ten years old, who composed the young family of Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro, were playing about.
“Here we are, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, as he drove the sharp end of the bar into the ground; “here we are, and plenty of us—Bute dosta Romany chals.” [{242}]
“I am glad to see you all,” said I; “and particularly you, madam,” said I, making a bow to Mrs. Petulengro; “and you also, madam,” taking off my hat to Mrs. Chikno.
“Good day to you, sir,” said Mrs. Petulengro; “you look as usual, charmingly, and speak so, too; you have not forgot your manners.”
“It is not all gold that glitters,” said Mrs. Chikno. “However, good-morrow to you, young rye.”
“I do not see Tawno,” said I, looking around; “where is he?”
“Where, indeed!” said Mrs. Chikno; “I don’t know; he who countenances him in the roving line can best answer.”
“He will be here anon,” said Mr. Petulengro; “he has merely ridden down a by-road to show a farmer a two-year-old colt; she heard me give him directions, but she can’t be satisfied.”
“I can’t indeed,” said Mrs. Chikno.
“And why not, sister?”