She placed the child on her shoulder, clasped the little hands securely round her neck, and ran to the sound of Nan’s shouts down the shady walk.
At the farther end Nan suddenly tightened her clasp, drew herself up, ceased to laugh, and said with some fright in her voice—
“Who dat?”
Annie, too, stood still with a sudden start, for the gypsy woman, Mother Rachel, was standing directly in their path.
“Go ’way, naughty woman,” said Nan, shaking her small hand imperiously.
The gypsy dropped a low curtsey, and spoke in a slightly mocking tone.
“A pretty little dear,” she said. “Yes, truly now, a pretty little winsome dear; and oh, what shoes! and little open-work socks! and I don’t doubt real lace trimming on all her little garments—I don’t doubt it a bit.”
“Go ’way—me don’t like ’oo,” said Nan. “Let’s wun back—gee, gee,” she said, addressing Annie, whom she had constituted into a horse for the time being.
“Yes, Nan; in one minute,” said Annie. “Please, Mother Rachel, what are you doing here?”
“Only waiting to see you, pretty Missie,” replied the tall gypsy. “You are the dear little lady who crossed my hand with silver that night in the wood. Eh, but it was a bonny night, with a bonny bright moon, and none of the dear little ladies meant any harm—no, no. Mother Rachel knows that.”