“We will drive past the gypsy encampment,” said Fred eagerly, turning to Hilda. “It is really romantic; I could scarcely tear myself away. You will go, won’t you, cousin?”
No need to ask. Hilda’s face showed her delight in anticipation of something so new and altogether enchanting.
“I hope you will not encourage the gypsies by stopping to listen to their foolishness,” said Mrs. Warfield gently.
“Oh, I would not have them tell my fortune for anything!” ejaculated Hilda. “I would be afraid they would tell me something evil.”
“That would depend upon what you paid them,” smiled Mrs. Warfield.
Fred made no comment, but hurried out to give orders for the conveyance.
“Now, cousin mine,” he said as it came to the gate, “allow me to assist you,” and with easy grace he took the filmy white scarf from Hilda’s hand and placed it adroitly and becomingly on her brown hair and a few minutes later Planchette was speeding away with the long swinging trot which characterized her.
Fred had said truly that nothing could be pleasanter than the drive to the encampment, and nothing more romantic than the scene upon which they looked a little later.
In order to observe, and, as he thought, be unobserved, Fred selected as a good place to halt a part of the forest separated from the encampment by a running brook and the thick screen of willows on either side, between the trunks of which they could, with but slight obstruction, have a good view of the camp.
In the foreground were two small tents, in front of which was burning a bright fire of brushwood.