"Where is your camp and where is the little girl?" demanded the shepherd.
Banda Bela looked around him in amazement. Of the Gypsy camp there was not a trace left, save that dead embers lay where once the fire-pot had been. Tents, carts, horses, Gypsies,—all had vanished from the face of the earth as completely as if they had never been there.
"They have gone and left me!" cried Banda Bela. "Marushka! Where is Marushka?"
"Banda Bela!" called a faint voice behind him, and he turned quickly to see the little girl sitting under a great poplar tree, rubbing her eyes stupidly. He ran to her and the shepherd caught her in his arms.
"What happened in the tent last night?" asked Banda Bela.
"Rosa took me on her lap and cried," said Marushka, "then I went to sleep; but why am I here and where is Rosa?"
"During the night my wife awoke and heard faint sounds of stirring about outside the tent and muffled horses' hoofs. One of the horse herd is missing, many things are taken from the cook hut, and the Gypsies are gone. I do not know why we did not hear them more plainly when they passed," said the shepherd.
"They always tie up their horses' feet in rags when they travel at night," said Banda Bela. "Now they may be many miles from here. No one knows where, for they always cover their tracks. Don't cry, Marushka, I'll take care of you."
"You are but a child yourself," said the shepherd. "Come to my hut and eat and then we shall see what is to be done."