"What! do you speak our tongue?" cried he.
"Nay; you speak mine," returned I, calmly. "Bura is great; and kala, which you call kalo, is black, of course; everybody knows that who knows Hindustanee."
Then the three burst out together in a language, one word out of four of which seemed to be more or less familiar to me; as for understanding what they said, of course it was simply impossible; but no matter, I had established my reputation. From that moment, I felt myself to be the honoured guest of the family. Would I smoke? Would I eat? Would I drink? I was thirsty, and I said that I would gladly take some water—which, at a venture, I called paince.
"Paunce!" cried they, extravagantly delighted. "He talks like a true Cingari; and only look! is he not dark-skinned!"
The few words that my old ayah had taught me in India had thus procured me a hearty welcome in a Midshire fir-plantation.
"Sit down by me, Peter Meredith, my son," exclaimed the old woman; "and do you fetch him water, Mina."
I dismounted, and did as I was bid; while the young girl took a pitcher, and presently brought it filled from a running Stream near by, and offered it to me, like another Rebecca. But her grandmother—for such she was—cried, "Stop! let me put something in it;" and produced from her pocket the self-same flask which she herself had given me a few weeks ago, and which I had thought was left behind at the Dovecot.
"Why, I was blaming myself for not having brought you that thing back to-day," said I; "I never heard of your coming to claim it."
"Nor did I, young gentleman," returned the old woman, proudly. "Harvey Gerard is too kind a man to visit when one is not in need. That was why I left his house that day, directly I had told what had befallen Marmaduke Heath: I did not wish him to think I waited for my reward.
He returned me this with his own hands. He is not one of your proud ones. When we had the fever here—Mina, darling, you remember who came to see you, and saved your life?"