“I’ve chosen now betwixt ye;
Your wish you now have gotten,
But for it you shall smart.”
He then struck her with his fist on the cheek, and broke her jawbone. Shuri uttered no cry or complaint, only mumbled:
“Although with broken jawbone,
I’ll follow thee, my Ryley,
Since Lura doesn’t jal.”
Thereupon Ryley and Yocky Shuri left Yorkshire, and wended their way to London, where they took up their abode in the Gypsyry near the Shepherd’s Bush. Shuri went about dukkering and hokking, but not with the spirit of former times, for she was not quite so young as she had been, and her jaw, which was never properly cured, pained her much. Ryley went about tinkering, but he was unacquainted with London and its neighbourhood, and did not get much to do. An old Gypsy-man, who was driving about a little cart filled with skewers, saw him standing in a state of perplexity at a place where four roads met.
Old Gypsy.
“Methinks I see a brother!
Who’s your father? Who’s your mother?
And what may be your name?”
“A Bosvil was my father;
A Bosvil was my mother;
And Ryley is my name.”
Old Gypsy.
“I’m glad to see you, brother!
I am a Kaulo Camlo. [247a]
What service can I do?”