This meal was finally prepared. The fumes from the pots reached the nostrils of Tess, Dot, and Sammy, and they were all ravenously hungry. Nor were they denied food. The Gypsies evidently had no intention of maltreating the captives in any particular as long as they obeyed and did not try to escape.
One young woman brought a great pan of stew and bread and three spoons to the van and set it on the upper step for the children.
“You eat,” said she, smiling, and the firelight shining on her gold earrings. “It do you goot—yes?”
“Oh, Miss Gypsy!” begged Tess, “we want to go home.”
“That all right. Beeg Jeem tak-a you. To-morrow, maybe.”
She went away hurriedly. But she had left them a plentiful supper. The three were too ravenous to be delicate. They each seized a spoon and, as Sammy advised, “dug in.”
“This is the way all Gypsies eat,” he said, proud of his knowledge. “Sometimes the men use their pocket knives to cut up the meat. But they don’t seem to have any forks. And I guess forks aren’t necessary anyway.”
“But they are nicer than fingers,” objected Tess.
“Huh? Are they?” observed the young barbarian.
After they had completely cleared the pan of every scrap and eaten every crumb of bread and drunk the milk that had been brought to them in a quart cup, Dot naturally gave way to sleepiness. She began to whimper a little too.