“See!” exclaimed Tess suddenly. “Are they packing up to leave? Or do they stay here all the time?”
It was now late afternoon. Instead of the supper fires being revived, they were smothered. Men and women had begun loading the heavier vans. The tents were coming down. Clotheslines stretched between the trees were now being coiled by the children. All manner of rubbish was being thrown into the bushes.
“I don’t know if they are moving. I’ll ask,” said Sammy, somewhat in doubt.
He went to a boy bigger than himself, but who seemed to be friendly. The little girls waited, staring all about for the two women with whom they had business.
“I don’t care,” whispered Dot. “If they don’t come pretty soon, and these Gypsies are going away from here, we’ll just go back home, Tess. We can’t give them the bracelet if we don’t see them.”
“But we do not want to walk home,” her sister said slowly in return. “And we ought to make Sammy go with us.”
“You try to make Sammy do anything!” exclaimed Dot, with scorn.
Their boy friend returned, swaggering as usual. “Well, they are going to move,” he said. “But I’m going with them. That boy—he was the one I licked, but he’s a good kid—says they are going to a pond where the fishing is great. Wish I had my fishpole.”
“But you must come back home with us, Sammy,” began Tess gravely.
“Not much I won’t! Don’t you think it,” cried Sammy. “But you might get my fishing tackle and jointed pole and sneak ’em out to me. There’s good kids!”