Dorothy could not repress a smile at the girl’s queer way of telling things, for the slang seemed as natural to Urania as chirping does to a wood sparrow. Neither did the common expressions sound vulgar, as they slipped from the full red lips, and became the utterances of the wild girl of the camps.
“You can depend on me,” whispered Dorothy, pressing Urania’s hand. “And do be careful to wash those scratches—keep the poison out, you know.”
“Oh, I’m all right,” the other replied. “There comes Tommie, and he’s got on the new togs. My, but he does look swell!”
Plunging through the bushes came the little gypsy boy, in the “new togs,” the pretty dark blue sailor suit that Dorothy had bought for him while in the city a few days before.
“He does look nice,” agreed Dorothy, when the boy stood before her, waiting for compliments. “And they fit you so nicely,” she continued, taking a critical look at the blue sailor suit. “But I must hurry off now. Be a good boy, Tommie, and don’t tear your new clothes in the bushes,” she cautioned.
“I won’t,” declared the little fellow. “I’m goin’ to town next time dad goes, and I want to save ’em.”
“That’s right. Good-bye, Urania, look after the scratches,” said Dorothy, aside, “and if you want any of the reward money, just come over and tell me. I’ll see that you get it without the others knowing.”
“Much obliged,” stammered Urania. “Come along, Tommie, if you want a ‘piggy-back,’” and she stooped to the ground to allow the boy to climb on her back. “Now, don’t kick—there. Hold fast!” and at this the gypsies started down one path, while Dorothy hurried along another, for it was growing dusk, and the prospect of meeting the “bad gypsies,” the chicken thieves, that Urania said might be prowling about, was not a pleasant thought to Dorothy. Fortunately the road was not far away, and when finally she did reach it, without encountering any “dark figures,” she breathed a sigh of relief, and then made her way quickly to the Cedars.