He turned out both his little pockets as he spoke, and looked at the man for sympathy.
“Dear, dear, dear!” said the man. “That is ’ard, now. But your folks is rich, bean’t they?”
“Father’s made of money; I’ve heard folks say so.”
“Well, now; that is nice for you; and he’s fond of a little chap like you, ain’t he?”
“Father?” said Ralph. He paused for a minute; then said with great force: “Yes, Father’s fond of me.”
The man looked to right of him and to left of him. There was no one in sight. There was only very pretty little Ralph, in his pretty and expensive dress. There was a wood behind them, a wood to right of them, and a wood to left of them, and the doctor’s little, old-fashioned house at the further end of the field; the house was to all appearance empty for the time being.
The gipsy man drew Ralph close and took his hand. Ralph felt that brown hand of the gipsy man’s as hard as iron. His little heart gave a sort of jump; but he was not going to be at all frightened. He was glad, he was very glad, he had seen a brown, brown gipsy man for himself; he had spoken to him; whatever Harriet might or might not do in the future, he had seen a gipsy man himself.
“I must be saying good-night, now,” he remarked in a very polite voice. “I am so glad I has met you. Please, good-night, Mr Gipsy Man. I am going back. I must wait in a horrid, ugly drawing-room for my school-mother: I must say good-night, Mr Gipsy.”
“Not so fast, master,” said the man. “How do you know that I wants to say good-night to you? I’ve took a sort of a fancy to yer, little master.”
“Have you?” said Ralph, looking up at him.