At a little gate which looked into a lane, through which he guessed that the gipsy must pass, he stationed himself, saw her, gave her half a crown and her instructions, made his escape, and got back unsuspected to Fisher, whom he found in the attitude in which he had left him, watching the motion of the minute hand.
Proud of his secret commission, Fisher slouched his hat, he knew not why, over his face, and proceeded towards the appointed spot. To keep, as he had been charged by Archer, within the letter of the law, he stood behind the forbidden building, and waited some minutes.
Through a gap in the hedge the old woman at length made her appearance, muffled up, and looking cautiously about her. “There’s nobody near us!” said Fisher, and he began to be a little afraid. “What answer,” said he, recollecting himself, “about my Livy?”
“Lost! lost! lost!” said the gipsy, lifting up her hands; “never, never, never to be found! But no matter for that now; that is not your errand to-night; no tricks with me; speak to me of what is next your heart.”
Fisher, astonished, put his hand upon his heart, told her all that she knew before, and received the answers that Archer had dictated: “That the Archers should be lucky as long as they stuck to their manager, and to one another; that the Barring Out should end in woe, if not begun precisely as the clock should strike nine on Wednesday night; but if begun in that lucky moment, and all obedient to their lucky leader, all should end well.”
A thought, a provident thought, now struck Fisher; for even he had some foresight where his favourite passion was concerned. “Pray, in our Barring Out shall we be starved?”
“No,” said the gipsy, “not if you trust to me for food, and if you give me money enough. Silver won’t do for so many; gold is what must cross my hand.”
“I have no gold,” said Fisher, “and I don’t know what you mean by ‘so many.’ I’m only talking of number one, you know. I must take care of that first.”
So, as Fisher thought it was possible that Archer, clever as he was, might be disappointed in his supplies, he determined to take secret measures for himself. His Aunt Barbara’s interdiction had shut him out of the confectioner’s shop; but he flattered himself that he could outwit his aunt; he therefore begged the gipsy to procure him twelve buns by Thursday morning, and bring them secretly to one of the windows of the schoolroom.
As Fisher did not produce any money when he made this proposal, it was at first absolutely rejected; but a bribe at length conquered his difficulties; and the bribe which Fisher found himself obliged to give—for he had no pocket money left of his own, he being as much restricted in that article as Archer was indulged—the bribe that he found himself obliged to give to quiet the gipsy was half a crown, which Archer had intrusted to him to buy candles for the theatre. “Oh,” thought he to himself; “Archer’s so careless about money, he will never think of asking me for the half-crown again; and now he’ll want no candles for the theatre; or, at anyrate, it will be some time first; and maybe, Aunt Barbara may be got to give me that much at Christmas; then, if the worst comes to the worst, one can pay Archer. My mouth waters for the buns, and have ’em I must now.”