Bud shook his head again.
“I don’t know,” he said, his mouth full of cakes and maple syrup, “like as not. Only I didn’t see none o’ the money ef it was.”
Mrs. Camp eyed him closely. Then she shook her head in turn.
“I reckon ye ain’t old enough yet to be told. But somepins comin’ to you, Bud. Don’t ye fergit that. It was a good piece o’ land and it’d bring a good price.”
“Oh, that’ll work out all right,” laughed Bud, with boyish indifference—but drinking in every one of Mrs. Camp’s words just the same. “This charm is goin’ to bring me good luck.”
Then he explained the part that Madame Zecatacas, the Gypsy Queen, had played in his recent experiences, and exhibited his ring. At that moment, Josh’s father, Mr. Camp—“Stump” Camp—as he was generally known, entered the kitchen from the mill. He was a small man, with large and bushy tobacco-stained whiskers and considerable curiosity. Bud repeated the story of the ring.
“Jack Stanley,” exclaimed Mr. Camp with a hearty guffaw. “Why, I’m sprized, Bud, ye don’t know him. He ain’t no gypsy, an’ he ain’t no Stanley, ’though all them horse traders give out they’re gypsies, an’ most o’ ’em say they’re Stanleys. You know him, Mother,” he said, turning to his wife. “He’s ole Bill Reed’s boy ’at run off with Red Stanley’s gang. I knowed ’em all. Red Stanley’s wife set up fur a great fortune teller, an’ she had a sign sayin’ she was Madame Somepin or Ruther.”
“Madame Zecatacas?” interrupted Bud.
“That’s it,” said Mr. Camp. “I seen her three years ago to the fair. I knowed ’em all. They traded through this country a good many years. They used to camp over nigh Little Town. That’s where John Reed, old Bill Reed’s boy, fell in with Stanley’s girl, an’ followed the gang away.”
“Shore,” commented Mrs. Camp, “I recollec’. And want it ole man Reed ’at sold that sixty acres to Bud’s pa?”