“No; yet I felt almost startled when she described my mother and my home better than I could have done. She also told me of some of my flirtations,” continued Fred, laughingly, while he reddened. “The old vixen said I would meet my match at no distant day, and would receive no pity, and deserve none.”
“How could she describe your mother and your home?” said his companion, amused at his discomfiture. “She had never seen them, had she?”
“Not that I am aware of, but these strollers have sources of information unsuspected by honest individuals. She could not have told me so much of my life since childhood had not someone given her the information.”
“What did she tell the ladies who came with you?”
“Something that pleased them very much, judging by their happy looks and smiles. We tried to persuade them to tell us, but they would only give us scraps and hints which might have been told any young lady and not been far wrong.”
“They are such good-looking people. I imagined that all gypsies had a wild, degraded look.”
“These are the most respectable ones I have seen, so far as appearances go, especially that one by the oak tree. They also belong to the illustrious house of Stanley.”
Fred’s laugh arose above the key to which they had been modulating their voices, and they realized that it had attracted the attention of the gypsies.
The men arose, and tying the horses, stood awhile looking about them, conversing in a low tone, then went to the brook, laved hands and face, and went to supper.
“Cousin Hilda,” said Fred, who had been gazing intently at the horses, “I believe that beautiful cream-colored one is the very animal that was stolen from an innkeeper in Springfield about two years ago.”