The girl stared hard at Annie, fixed her eyes inquiringly on Nan and Tiger, and then, turning on her heel, dashed up the path, went through a turn-stile, across the road, and into a cottage.
“Mother,” she exclaimed, “I said she warn’t a real gipsy: she’s a-coming back, and her face is all streaked like, and she has a little ’un along with her, and a dawg, and the only one as is gipsy is the dawg. Come and look at her, mother; oh, she is a fine take-in!”
The round-faced, good-humoured looking mother, whose name was Mrs Williams, had been washing and putting away the breakfast things when her daughter entered. She now wiped her hands hastily and came to the cottage door.
“Cross the road, and come to the stile, mother,” said the energetic Peggy—“oh, there she be a-creeping along—oh, ain’t she a take-in?”
“’Sakes alive!” ejaculated Mrs Williams, “the girl is ill! why, she can’t keep herself steady! There! I knew she’d fall; ah! poor little thing—poor little thing.”
It did not take Mrs Williams an instant to reach Annie’s side; and in another moment she had lifted her in her strong arms and carried her into the cottage, Peggy lifting Nan and following in the rear, while Tiger walked by their sides.