Hallo! Lotty has gone bounding past Antony to meet some one, her face transformed. No sadness now; only daft mirth and merriment, her arms extended, her curls anyhow all over her face and neck. A scream of delight, and next moment two very young and beautiful persons are rolling together on the half-withered grass.
One is Lotty, the other is Wallace her Newfoundland. Jet black is he all over, like the wings of Crona's raven—jet black, save for the glitter of his bonny eyes, the pink of his tongue, and alabaster flash of his marvellous teeth.
. . . . . . .
'See your room first, Mr Blake, and then come in to supper?'
The speaker was Nat Biffins Lee, master and proprietor of what he was wont to call 'The Queerest Show on Earth,' a broad, square, round-faced, somewhat burly man, with even teeth and a put-on smile that was seldom unshipped. Dressed in a loose velveteen jacket, with white waistcoat (diamond-mounted buttons), with an enormous spread of neck and upper chest. His loose cravat of green silk was tied in a sailor-knot so far beneath his fat chin that it seemed to belong more to the vest than to the loose shirt-collar.
'Here, hurry up, you kinchin, Lot!—Down, Wallace; kennel, sir.' Biffins cracked a short whip, and Lotty flew to obey.
The look of sadness had returned to her face. Her father's manner seemed to frighten her. But she tripped like a fairy up the back steps of the 'Gipsy Queen,' and stood waiting him while he entered.
Antony stood for a few moments on the stairtop. He was dazzled, bewildered. He had never seen so large a caravan, never could have believed that the interior of a caravan could lend itself to such art-decorations and beauty. This was no ordinary gipsy wagon, but a splendid and luxurious home-upon-wheels. The curtains, the hangings, mirrors, brackets, bookcase with pigmy editions of poetry and romance, the velvet lounge, the art chairs, the soft carpets, the crimson-shaded electric bulbs and the fairy lights gleaming up through beds of choice flowers above the china-cupboard in a recess, all spoke of and breathed refinement.
But no sign of a bedroom, till smiling Lotty stepped forward and touched a spring; then china-cupboard, with fairy lights and flowers and all, slowly revolved and disappeared, and, in its place, gauzy silken hangers scarce concealed the entrance to a pretty cabin bedroom, with curtained window and white-draped couch which seemed to invite repose. A cosy wee grate in a brass-protected corner, in which a cosy wee fire was burning, a small mirrored overmantel—making the room look double the size—table, looking-glass, books, pipe-rack, wine-cupboard, and a little lamp on gimbals that was swinging even now, for the wind had commenced to blow along the links, and the great caravan rocked and swayed like a ship in a seaway.
There were wild-flowers in vases even here, and a blithe little rose-linnet in a golden cage; but everything was so arranged that nothing could fall, rocked and swayed she ever so much.