“And is Granny Ann your mother?” asked Ruth.
“She is my grandmother,” replied Zerlina. “My mother died many years ago.”
Ruth looked at her sympathetically. They had, she thought, at least one thing in common in their widely separated circumstances.
“Would you like,” she asked gently, “to live in a city and go to school?”
For a moment Zerlina’s face flushed with a deep glow of color. Her eyes traveled from one to another of the automobile party. She noted their refined, well-bred faces, their dainty dresses, the luxurious pile of long silk coats and chiffon veils. Nothing escaped the child, not even the elegant little tea basket with its fittings of silver and French china.
“There are times when I hate this life,” Zerlina said finally, turning to Ruth, who was watching her curiously. “There are times in the winter when we have been too poor to go far enough South to keep warm. It is then that I would like the city and the warm houses. But my grandmother is very strict.”
She paused and bit her lip. She had spoken so fiercely that the girls had felt somewhat embarrassed at their own prosperity. “But,” continued Zerlina in a quieter tone, “when summer comes, I would rather be here in the woods. Gypsies do not live in houses,” she went on a little proudly. “My grandmother has told me that they have been wanderers for thousands of years. They do not go to school. They teach each other. My grandmother has taught me to read and write. She was taught by her mother, who was adopted and educated by a noble lady. But she came back to the Gypsies afterwards.”
“And your mother?” asked Mollie.
“My mother is dead,” returned Zerlina, and closed her lips tightly, as if to block all further inquiries in that direction.
“It is very interesting!” exclaimed Ruth. “And your education is then really inherited from your great-grandmother.”