XXIII
And know that the sorrow of sorrows is only a law of his being.
Fiona MacLeod.
The tired leaves were falling always thicker; the days were shorter; night came down with the rapidity of a swooping bird; and more than once in the early morn a white frost had covered the ground like crystallized sugar strewn all over the earth.
The gypsies' camp was still pitched beside the wood. They had work to do in the villages close by, and often in the evenings the long-suffering donkeys came back heavily laden with vessels of shining copper, which the dark people mended and patched, as is the wont of their wandering race.
Their voices could be heard, either in song or strife, as they hammered away on the rounded caldrons that shone from far, the colour of molten lead.
The naked children played about in noisy groups, quarrelling like little brown monkeys, pursuing, with extended hands, every traveller that ventured too near their tents, and relating their misery with lamentable cries.
There was word of moving to some warmer clime, but as yet no order of march had been given, though the nights were cold and the large fires that were lit, and glowed in the dark like funeral pyres, were hardly sufficient protection. When the young men had finished their work for the day they would sit around in groups, playing games of cards with packs all greasy and blackened by constant use, games which often ended in noisy discord, when more than one sharpened blade would have to be knocked out of angry hands. The old women came together and sat by the leaping flames, weird witches of ancient legends, talking and chattering, relating endless yarns of endless deeds both gay and sinister, often scolding the young ones for all they had left undone, threatening them with every curse if they did not mend their ways.
The lean dogs walked about snatching at every remnant of food they could lay their hungry teeth upon, but the horses passively waited till the dark hour would sound for receiving once more their heavy burdens, which they would carry with patient resignation in spite of the scarcely healed wounds upon their tired backs.