“Do bring them to the rectory, and I’ll coax Distie on into eating some. He will not know they are yours; and, if they upset him, he will not be of so much consequence as any one else.”
But Vane shook his head as they walked thoughtfully back.
“I know,” he cried, all at once; “I’ll give them to Mrs Bruff.”
“But would she cook them?”
“Let’s go and see. What time is it?”
“Half-past four,” said Macey.
“Plenty of time before he gets home from work.”
Vane started off at such a rate that Macey had to cry out for respite as they struck out of the wood, and reached a lane where, to their surprise, they came plump upon the gipsies camped by the roadside, with a good fire burning, and their miserable horse cropping the grass in peace.
The first objects their eyes lit upon were the women who were busily cooking; and Vane advanced and offered his basket of vegetable treasures, but they all laughed and shook their heads, and the oldest woman of the party grunted out the word “poison.”