“Will they bite us? Oh, Sammy! will they bite us?”
“Not if they don’t catch us,” replied the boy, staggering on, bearing the heavier end of Dot while Tess carried her sister’s feet.
They suddenly burst through a fringe of bushes upon the open road. There was just starlight enough to show them the way. The dogs were still barking vociferously back at the Gypsy camp. But there seemed to be no pursuit.
“Oh, my gracious! I’ve torn my frock,” gasped Tess. “Do wait, Sammy.”
The boy stopped. Indeed he had to, for his own breath had given out. The three fell right down on the grass beside the road, and Dot began to whimper.
“You stop her, Tess!” exclaimed Sammy. “You said you could. She will bring those Gypsies right here.”
“Dot! Dot!” whispered Tess, shaking the smaller girl. “Do you want to be a prisoner again? Keep still!”
“My—my knees are cold,” whined Dot.
“Je-ru-sa-lem!” gasped Sammy explosively. “Now she’s done it! We’re caught again.”
He jumped to his feet, but not quickly enough to escape the outstretched hand of the figure that had suddenly appeared beside them. A dark face bent over the trio of frightened children.