It seemed another age before the stillness was broken again by the sound of crackling underbrush, and Mollie’s figure was gradually outlined in the blackness.
“I couldn’t tell,” she said. “They seemed to be only men sitting around the fire smoking. I was afraid to get any nearer for fear one of them might be the robber. They say Gypsies can be very kind, but I think it would be better if we all went together and asked for help, if we go at all. The men looked very fierce,” she added faintly, slipping her hand into her sister’s for sympathy.
“Dearest little sister,” whispered Bab, kissing her, “don’t ever say again you are a coward.”
Then two persons emerged from between the trees on the other side of the road.
The five women held their breath in fear and suspense as the figures approached, evidently without having seen these women standing in the shadow. They were close enough now for the automobilists to make out that they were two women, one young and the other old apparently.
Suddenly, with a cry of joy and relief, Mollie sprang upon the elder of the two women, threw her arms about the stranger’s neck and burst into uncontrollable sobs.
“O Granny Ann, Granny Ann!” cried Mollie. “At the very time we needed your help most you have come to us. I hoped and prayed it was your tribe, but I couldn’t tell. There were only men.”
The old Gypsy woman patted Mollie’s cheek tenderly, while the little girl sobbed out the story of their evening’s adventure.
The others had been so surprised at Mollie’s sudden outburst that they stood silently by without interrupting the story; but all felt that a light was beginning to break on what a short time before had looked like a hopeless situation.
Granny Ann, the sixty years of whose life had been spent in wandering over many countries, was as unperturbed as if they had met by appointment. Her companion, a young Gypsy girl, stood quietly by without speaking a word.