“And what he told me came true, every word of it. I’ll take my sacrium oath it did. That there gozvero mush (wise man) could tell the names of folks as had stolen things, and he could dûker (tell fortunes) like one of us. He could tell folk a lot about theirselves by rubbing his hand over the bumps on their heads, and he could read the stars like a book, and find out things by the cards and by the crystal. He was sort of friendly with our people, and they liked him, but they would never go near a witch if they knew it.”
It has been truly said, “No one is fond of Gypsies, but is fonder of Gypsy children.” Grave-eyed pixies, at once bold and reserved, these quaint little sprites are simply irresistible. When the meal is over, I stroll off with a party of these romping rascals towards a gorsy hollow which the sun warms into a gayer gold. Asking the children if they would like a tale, and what sort? Answer comes, “A muleno gudlo” (fairy tale).
“How long?”
“A mile long, in course.”
Into my tale creeps a ghost, and when I had done, little Reuben says—
“I know something about mulos (ghosts). One time a man was killed by a bull at the corner of the lane down yonder, and we allus hurries past that place for fear of dikin his mulo” (seeing his ghost). “And then there was two Gypsies as father once know’d. They begged some straw from a farmer and put it in a little shed for to sleep on. Then they went into the willage to buy a loaf, and when they got back they found the straw had gone. A little ways off they see’d a woman running away with the straw, but ’stid of follering her they went straight to the farmhouse where they’d got leave to sleep in the shed, and they told the farmer about the woman, and he says—
“‘Why, that’s my old woman as died ten year ago.’ My word, those Gypsies soon began to look out for a sleeping-place somewhere else. Yes, we knows a lot about mulos.”
“What’s that noise?” asked one of the girls, springing up.
“Come away tshavê (children). Come away, sir. Don’t you hear that nasty little sap” (snake)?
From among the mossy stones near at hand came a hissing sound, and there, sure enough, was a small viper wagging his black-forked tongue at us. We got up and moved nearer the camp.