Two forked sticks supported an iron rod from which was suspended a tea kettle, clouds of steam issuing from lid and spout.
Upon a large box which served as a table a middle-aged woman had spread a white cloth, and was placing upon it dishes of different colors, and with an eye to effect.
A young and handsome gypsy in a scarlet dress and with a plaid kerchief about her shapely throat was seated under a large oak tree that spread its protecting arms over the tents.
Her swarthy yet clear complexion was smooth as satin, her eyes were large, brown and lustrous, and her crimson lips parted frequently in smiles at the gambols of the child at her feet, showing her perfect teeth. Two robust little boys played about the mossy bank, upon whom her eyes rested with pride.
Back of the tents stood two substantial, covered wagons, and under the oaks beside them lay three gypsy men, idly watching the horses, which, held by ropes, were cropping the grass within reach.
“It looks so lovely and peaceful,” commented Hilda. “I wish an artist were here to sketch it.”
“The full moon is rising,” said Fred, turning to look through the window of the carriage; “the tops of the trees are becoming silvered, which adds to the beauty. Would you like to be a gypsy, Cousin Hilda?”
“At this hour it would be charming to encamp; but during the bitter cold and snow-storms of winter the poor creatures must suffer.”
“No danger but they will keep warm so long as there is wood to steal; besides, they are accustomed to rough it,” said Fred lightly.
“And yet they suffer sometimes from exposure. When I was a child Dr. Lattinger attended a gypsy who was ill of pneumonia. Their encampment was in the woods near Dorton during two months of winter, and Dr. Lattinger saw her twice a day. He said they were very respectful to him, and in sympathy for the sick woman and in care of her were much like our own people. They were of the tribe of Stanley.”