What happened to Tad

by Mary E. Ropes

Poor, outcast, homeless creatures as they were, strangers in a strange land, these good people had asked of them but few questions, but made the boys heartily welcome, giving them permission to continue with the troupe so long as it suited them to do so.

Old Jacques had said, furthermore, when he yielded to the earnest entreaty of the lads, "Yes, my children, and I accept your offer of service. We are not rich, and we cannot afford to keep anyone in idleness. You will therefore work as we do, and be one with us in all things, subject also to the laws that govern us. For we have our own rules which we strictly enforce, and punishment is inflicted upon all those who break them."

The boys had readily promised obedience. Any rule, any yoke of service, would be light, and even pleasant, after the miseries of their late servitude, and now they gladly resolved to be docile, industrious, and helpful. Very soon they found they were taken at their word, and that there was no want of employment for anyone willing and able. They learned the art of basket-making, Phil's slender hands being specially clever in this. They made flower-sticks, clothes-pegs, twig-brooms, and broom-handles. They caned chairs, mended kitchen furniture for the poor people, and did a little rough tinkering. Phil, too, soon proved himself a good hand at weaving big rush hats for farm labourers, and very proud he was when he could hand over into good mother Sophie's care a handful of coppers, the wages of his industry.

Tad, on the other hand, was just as useful in the heavier and rougher work, and in the daily routine duties of the camp. He felt it no indignity to be a hewer of wood and drawer of water to the kind people who had extended towards him and Phil so generous a helping hand in their dire distress and destitution.

Ready in all things else to do the gipsies' bidding, the boys had begged that they should never be sent on errands that necessitated their going any distance alone. They had told Jacques and Sophie enough of their story to bespeak the sympathy and protection of the good old couple, and to show them that a meeting with Renard, Paul, or Jean might prove dangerous to their freedom, and possibly even to their lives. So the lads were kept to duties within the precincts of the camp; and in the busy, out-of-door life which they led, they lost, after a while, all fear of the evil men, the dread of whose reappearance had hitherto haunted them like evil phantoms.

For some time they heard nothing more about Marie and her plans. But one day Sophie and Jacques were talking together, and Tad heard what was said. The gipsies had decided to go on the next day to St. Malo, and encamp in a piece of waste ground about half a mile out of the town.

"At the town post-office, a letter from our daughter will probably be awaiting us," Sophie had said, "and let us hope she will soon follow it, coming by one of the steamers that bring passengers to this port."

The next day the little procession of gipsy vans passed through the town, not stopping, however, anywhere until it reached the open space where the troupe could encamp without fear of disturbing anyone, or being themselves molested.

One morning Tad and Phil were busy helping Sophie and Pelagie with the noonday meal. It was not often these gipsies had meat or poultry of any kind, but to-day one of the party had bought from a farmer's man, for a mere trifle, an antiquated rooster of venerable aspect, and the whole company were in high glee at the thought of adding this dainty to the usual soup.

But first old chanticleer must be plucked and cleaned, and Tad was set to work at this, while Phil helped to wash turnips and carrots, and peel onions and potatoes for the pot-au-feu.