“Aren’t there tramps?” inquired Nat.
“Perhaps. But it would take a slick tramp to catch me. Gypsy girls know how to run, if they can’t read and write.”
It seemed to Dorothy that this remark was tinged with bitterness; as if the girl evidently felt the loss of education.
“But you had better run back to the camp like a good girl,” pleaded Nat. “Come, we’ll walk part of the way with you.”
“Back to the camp! You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve started out in the world for myself, and could not go back now if I wanted to. That woman would beat me.”
“What woman?” Nat asked.
“The one my father married. They call her Melea. She has her own little girl and doesn’t care for Urania.”
“But where will you stay to-night?” inquired Dorothy, now anxious that the little Gypsy would change her mind, and run back to the camp at the foot of the hill before it would be too late—before she might be missed from her usual place.
“I was going to sleep under the bridge,” replied Urania calmly, “but when I heard you talking I came out. I love to hear pretty words.”
“Poor child,” thought Dorothy, “like a little human fawn. And she wants to start out in the world for herself!”