“Really?” he said. “That’s interesting—most interesting. What are your earliest recollections previous to being stolen?”
William was thoroughly enjoying himself. He was William no longer. He was not even Helbert. He was Evelyn de Vere, the hero of “Stolen by Gipsies,” which he had read a few months ago.
“Oh, I remember a kinder palace an’ a garden with stachues an’ peacocks an’—er—waterfalls an’—er—flowers an’ things, an’ a black man what came in the night an’ took me off, an’ I’ve gotter birthmark somewhere what’ll identify me,” he ended, with modest pride.
“Dear me!” squeaked the little old man, greatly impressed. “How interesting! How very interesting!”
They had reached the little old gentleman’s house. A very prim old lady opened the door.
“You’re late, Augustus,” she said sternly.
“A most interesting specimen,” murmured Augustus deprecatingly. “I found it as I was on the point of returning home and forgot the hour.”
The prim lady was looking up and down William.
“Who is this boy?” she said, still more sternly.
“Ah!” said the old gentleman, as if glad to change the subject, “he is a little gipsy.”