“Don’t you read English?”
“No. I’m Austrian. I know some German. A woman taught me. But I never went to school—never to a school like this,” said the Gypsy girl, with a sigh.
“Who are you?” asked Bobby, deeply interested.
“You—you can call me Margit—Margit Salgo, from Austria.”
Now, this puzzled Bobby Hargrew more than ever, for she knew that the Gypsies the girl had been with were English. Yet she was afraid of frightening the girl by telling her what she already knew about her. And immediately the Gypsy girl asked her another question:
“Spell me some of their other names, will you?”
“Whose other names?”
“The lady teachers,” replied Margit, her black eyes flashing eagerly.
“Why—why, there’s Mrs. Case,” stammered Bobby.
“How do you spell the letters?”