The Gypsies had tried to call the little boy away from the huge dog. But they knew that the appearance of the hound would no longer strike terror to the hearts of their visitors.
Indeed, Laura, who was naturally unafraid of dogs, as she was of horses, went over to the big, ugly-looking brute, and patted his head. He raised up and looked at her, and his bloodshot eyes did have a fearful appearance; but he lapped her hand with his soft tongue—and that bogey was laid!
“Just as soon as Bobby comes out, we’ll go, girls,” said Laura, confidently. “They won’t dare lay a finger on us.”
At that moment Bobby burst from the fortune-teller’s tent. She presented a wonderful and a shocking sight to her friends, for usually they saw her laughing. She was in tears and she ran to Laura and clung to her in a frightened way.
“Oh! oh!” she cried. “I want to get away from this horrid place. Do let’s go, Mother Wit! Please do!”
“What’s the matter with you, Bobby?” demanded Jess, nervously. “You give me the creeps.”
“These hateful people——” began Dora Lockwood, when the Gypsy queen appeared at the tent entrance. Her eyes sparkled and her handsome face was flushed. She called something in a low, clear voice, and the men, who had gathered in a knot at one side, started toward her.
One of them unfastened the dog again and held the end of the chain. The queen was talking excitedly in their own tongue to the others.
Laura shook Bobby a little and said, shrewdly:
“I guess she got out of you what she wanted to know, eh?”