“Very good. Will you come with me, Raymond?”
“If Susan lets me,” answered the boy, looking at his foster-mother.
“She will let you,” said the gipsy, calmly. “Get him ready instantly. I have no time to lose.”
The woman, though looking deeply grieved and sorry, did not hesitate to obey, for there was something in the age of Ketura that might have made a bolder woman yield. So she dressed little Raymond in silence, made up the rest of his clothing in a bundle, kissed him, and said good-by amid many tears and sobs, and saw him depart with Ketura.
“Let me carry you—we have a long way to go,” said the gipsy, stooping to lift him in her strong arms.
“I don’t want to be carried. I’ll walk,” said Master Ray, kicking manfully.
The gipsy smiled a hard, grim smile.
“His father’s spirit,” she muttered. “I like it. We’ll see how long he will hold out.”
For nearly an hour the little hero trudged sturdily along, but at the end of that time his steps began to grow slow and weary.
“Ain’t we most there?” he said, looking ruefully down the long muddy road.