‘It is impossible for me to say, Belle, this person being the only one of the name I have ever personally known. I suppose there are good and bad, clever and foolish, amongst them, as amongst all large bodies of people; however, after the tribe had been governed for upwards of thirty years by such a person as old Fraser, it were no wonder if the greater part had become either rogues or fools; he was a ruthless tyrant, Belle, over his own people, and by his cruelty and rapaciousness must either have stunned them into an apathy approaching to idiocy, or made them artful knaves in their own defence. The qualities of parents are generally transmitted to their descendants—the progeny of trained pointers are almost sure to point, even without being taught; if, therefore, all Frasers are either rogues or fools, as this person seems to insinuate, it is little to be wondered at, their parents or grandparents having been in the training-school of old Fraser; but enough of the old tyrant and his slaves. Belle, prepare tea this moment or dread my anger. I have not a gold-headed cane like old Fraser of Lovat, but I have, what some people would dread much more, an Armenian rune-stick.’
CHAPTER V
FRESH ARRIVALS—PITCHING THE TENT—CERTIFICATED WIFE—HIGH-FLYING NOTIONS
On the following morning, as I was about to leave my tent, I heard the voice of Belle at the door, exclaiming, ‘Sleepest thou, or wakest thou?’ ‘I was never more awake in my life,’ said I, going out. ‘What is the matter?’ ‘He of the horse-shoe,’ [29a] said she, ‘Jasper, [29b] of whom I have heard you talk, is above there on the field with all his people; I went about a quarter of an hour ago to fill the kettle at the spring, and saw them arriving.’ ‘It is well,’ said I; ‘have you any objection to asking him and his wife to breakfast?’ ‘You can do as you please,’ said she; ‘I have cups enough, and have no objection to their company.’ ‘We are the first occupiers of the ground,’ said I, ‘and being so, should consider ourselves in the light of hosts, and do our best to practise the duties of hospitality.’ ‘How fond you are of using that word,’ said Belle, ‘if you wish to invite the man and his wife, do so, without more ado; remember, however, that I have not cups enough, nor, indeed, tea enough, for the whole company.’ Thereupon hurrying up the ascent, I presently found myself outside the dingle. It was, as usual, a brilliant morning, the dewy blades of the rye-grass which covered the plain sparkled brightly in the beams of the sun, which had probably been about two hours above the horizon. A rather numerous body of my ancient friends and allies occupied 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.’ [29c] 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. [30a] 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.’ [30b]
‘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?’