"I can play the fiddle and concertina and sing," she said.
"Can you?" he asked, in surprise.
"Yes, father says I'm good."
"I've no doubt you are," he said, with some amusement. He wondered what the gipsy standard of music was.
Suddenly he noticed her raise her head, listening intently, he watched her with interest; the delicate nostrils quivered, she seemed to be smelling something.
"There's someone in the wood," she said.
"All right. Let 'em stop there."
"Come into the dark," she whispered. She moved silently into the shadow of the pine trees.
He was getting up to follow her when a rough looking man in a round fur cap, a suit with big poacher pockets to the coat and gaiters protecting his trousers, and carrying a big stick under his arm, came out into the moonlight.
"So I've caught you, have I?"