There was the usual talk about how each one had had trouble—which was true enough—and that each one was to have more which, perhaps, in the nature of events, was still more true. But “all would come out well in the end;” and then, too, was talk of dark-haired strangers—and light-haired ones—of the male variety—who would play more or less havoc with hearts and minds.
But through it all the girls felt sure there was an undercurrent of worriment in the camp. At times some of the men would get up and move off, accompanied by a dog or two.
Some took horses with them, sitting lazily on the bare backs of the nags, cross-fashion, too slovenly, it seemed to ride astraddle, or even to throw on a sack for a saddle. Whether they rode out to do some trading, or on another errand was not disclosed.
Then, too, when Mrs. Bonnell had finished with her fortune, in which, truth to tell, she was not much interested, a young man, handsome enough in his Gypsy fashion, hurried into the camp. He strode into the tent of Neezar, the Queen, before Mrs. Bonnell had fished the change out of her net purse, and began an excited utterance in some unknown tongue—probably the Gypsy argot—which sounded like Bohemian.
“Cha!” was the only word the old Gypsy uttered, but it was enough and sent the abashed young man out of the tent in a hurry, his flow of talk ceasing.
“Their everlasting quarrels—what have I to do with them? They are ever at me to settle their disputes!” exclaimed Neezar. “I will have none of it,” and she looked at Mrs. Bonnell shrewdly. “It was about a horse,” she needlessly explained. “The young men are much trouble.”
“And you rule over them also,” asked the Guardian.
“Yes, over all.”
“And did Hadee dispute your authority?”
It was a shrewd guess Mrs. Bonnell thought, for the aged Gypsy looked at her suspiciously.