“No, you won’t,” I replied; “mine’s silk and yours cotton.”
“Pen mandi, baw” (Tell me, friend), I inquired of the tall man under the trees, “Is Charley Watland here this time?”
“Keka, mi pal, the puro’s poger’d his hĕro (No, my brother, the old man’s broken his leg) at Peterborough. He’s got kicked by a hoss, and he’s in the infirmary.” This was bad news, for I had hoped to meet my friend here and spend the night with him.
A little way across the fields the lights of a village gleamed through the darkness, and, making my way thither, I sought for a resting-place, but in vain. Every available bed was already engaged. In and out of the taverns passed horse-dealers and rollicking Gypsies. Groups of Romany lads and lasses stood talking in the lane. Burly women with foaming jugs bumped against you in the shadows. Between the barking of dogs and the whinnying of horses, a word or two of Romany floated now and then to one’s ear.
Tired after my day in the open air, I turned into a by-lane to think matters over. A gentle wind rustled the leaves on the trees, and on the eastern horizon a growing light told of approaching moon-rise. I sat on a fence and watched Old Silver appear above the hills. Away from the village, I began to notice the sights and sounds of night. An owl on velvety wing fluttered by. Little birds cheeped in the thicket behind me. Field-mice squeaked in the grass on the bank. I began to feel cut off from the world. What was I to do? Walk about all night? Make a bed on the bracken in a neighbouring wood? Renew my search for a more civilized couch in one or other of the adjacent villages? Tramp down the long dusty road to a small town some few miles off, where I knew of more than one snug hostelry? Why indeed? Was I not out for adventure? I resolved to ask the Gypsies to give me a bed. Therefore, without further ado, I slipped through a gap in the hedge, and made tracks for the Gypsy fires already mentioned.
“Hello, here’s the rai back again.” It was the tall Gypsy’s wife who spoke. My tale was soon told, and I was promptly offered a corner under Arthur West’s tilt-hood placed tent-wise on the ground. Now that my mind was at ease, I sat me down by the fire near which a savoury smell of supper arose. It was astonishing how quickly we cleaned the bones of several bird-like objects set before us.
“Did you ever taste of these little things afore?”
“Well, whatever they are, I shouldn’t mind if they had been larger.”