"I tell you," she heard Mr. Rand say, "these gypsy fellows will stoop to anything. And as for revenge—they say once a gypsy always a gypsy. Which means they will stick by each other——"
"Come on, Cora. We want the song. I remember my mother used to sing the 'Gypsy's Warning,' and she brought it right down to date—we never went near a camp," said Walter.
The threat of the old gypsy woman rang in Cora's ears. She could see her raise that brown finger and hear her say: "If you harm Salvo, harm shall be upon your head." Cora had testified against Salvo. A hat known to belong to a member of the tribe was later found at midnight under Cora's car, miles from the town where the robbery had been committed. Were they following her?
"Oh, really, I can't sing to-night," she protested rather lamely. "I have a cold."
The voices on the porch had ceased. Betty was claiming her father for some game. The evening had not been a great success.
"And to-morrow," faltered Walter, "we pass on. I wish we had decided
to stay in the Berkshires, but of course the girls must make the White
Mountains," and he fell back in his chair as if overwhelmed. "I fancy
Bess is ambitious to climb Mount Washington."
"I possibly could—as well as the others," and Bess flushed at the mention of anything in the flesh-reducing line. "I have always been a pretty fair climber."
"Yes, that's right," called Jack. "I remember one time Bess climbed in the window at school. A lemon pie had been locked up inadvertently."
"But you ought to see more of Lenox," spoke Betty. "I do wish you would stay—for a few days at least."
"So do I," said Walter with flagrant honesty.