“If she should get as far as our house, mother would take her in,” said Eve, in her placid way. “But the Romany folk are peculiar people, and they have laws of their own and do not like to be brought under those of other countries.”
“Why, they’re just tramps, aren’t they? Sort of sublimated tramps, perhaps,” said Jess.
“Not the real Gypsies,” said Laura. “They are very jealous, I have read, of their customs, their laws, and their language. They claim descent in direct line from early Egyptian times. The name of Stanley alone, which is common with them, dates back to William the Conqueror.”
“Well, come on!” sighed Jess. “We don’t care anything about the Gypsies, and we can’t help that girl—just now. If we tried to follow her up stream we would only give those men the idea of the direction in which we went. Let’s get on, or we’ll never get to Fielding.”
“All right,” agreed Laura.
“Forward, march!” sang out Bobby. “How’s the way, Eve? Right down this hill?”
“Keep parallel with the road. We’ll strike another path later,” said the Swiss girl, who had rambled all over these hills with her brother.
“Oh, these shoes!” groaned Jess.
“I told you so,” exclaimed Laura.
“Bah! what good does it do to repeat that?” snapped her chum. “I hate those old mud-scows of mine that Mrs. Case makes me wear when she goes walking with us.”