And so on through the lovely day in September they walked on, or sang, or rested, or lay quite flat, and looked up through clinched eyelids to see who could best bear the light of the wide blue sky.
When they arrived at the race meeting, Freedom caught back her hair under a yellow kerchief, which she tied round her head, and the real fun of the day was over, for the children found themselves once more in a crowd. Freedom kept them closely with her, so that they might not get lost, and they were interested in listening to her telling people’s fortunes. Have you ever heard a gipsy tell a fortune? It is something like this. You must imagine a very rapid utterance, and a face thrust forward. An almost closed lid, veiling a very sharp eye, the face set sideways looking upwards, and a wheedling tone of voice.
“Shall I tell the pretty lady’s fortune? Bless her pretty heart, just cross the gipsy’s palm with a silver coin, my dear, and let the gipsy tell the fortune of the pretty lady, so her fate shan’t cross her wishes, but everything come true just as the lady (bless her pretty heart!) will be joyful and thankful for the good fortune to be. And remember the poor gipsy girl when she gives her hand into the hand of her true lover, the sweetheart who has vowed to be true. It’s just a coin that does it, thank you, my lovely lady, cross the gipsy’s palm with a silver coin, and the good luck will follow it.... Thank you, my dear, thank you, place your hand on mine and let the lines tell the gipsy girl what never a print book can’t reveal, but only the stars as does it; yes, my dear; there’s a ship coming, a long journey, I see a distant land, but there’s happiness in store for those as believe it, though for those as sets their hearts agen’ it, it may be far from otherwise.
“I see a beautiful young man, a bee-utiful young man, O, but the strength of him, hasn’t he got an eye like a hawk, and a chin to him? There’ll be never no turning him from the pretty lady as he loves, not though others may say whatsoever they likes, but he’ll come straight as a beam of the morning, though I see a dark lady and two enemies what will do what they can, but don’t you believe ’em, my dear, never you believe the written words of crooked tongues, but you trust the gipsy girl, my dear, and she sees troth plighted, and love united, and a golden blessing, brighter than the stars; and a clergyman standin’ by and all.
“Now, there’s a letter to you coming, my dear, but don’t take nothing written on a Thursday, for the dark lady’s in it, and you must turn from your enemies if you trust the poor gipsy girl, for you’re one of those as may be led but can’t be druv, not though they stand never so. But three moons must shine before you hear what the gipsy girl sees in your pretty hand, but just cross the palm with another bit o’ silver, my dear, because then she can do it better with the cards, my dear, and bring the good fortune that tarries. Bless your heart, and thank you, my dear, and may you never go sorrowful, but find the lucky shoe-leather that’ll take you where you will.”
And so it goes on. The wheedling voice, the cringing manner, the crazy medley of sound and sense, with here and there a pretty phrase that is the garbled garrulity of the gipsy.
Perhaps it was this that made the children glad when the hours spent among the crowd were over. It was not pleasant to see Freedom change herself into this semblance of one of the most artful of her thieving tribe. But we know that she was bound over by the masterful nature of Bill, under whose tyranny she suffered, belieing indeed her beautiful name. While she belonged to the camp she had to work for it, and to-day had she returned from the race meeting without any money, Bill would have been furiously enraged. She looked back to the days when Jasper had been one of the camp—Jasper who had broken away and had begged her to go with him. But a foolish waywardness had turned her to the stronger mastery of Bill. She had not seen or exchanged words with Jasper since then, with the exception of the written message sent by the children on the evening of the fire and the fair. But all this time she had been growing fonder of the children, and there was a plan for their release maturing in her mind.
Cotman.
MOUSEHOLD HEATH.