The poor father and mother were almost beside themselves with grief. All the gentlemen and magistrates round about helped in the search and tried to discover who had stolen him. But it was all in vain. Of course the gypsies were suspected and well examined, but nothing could be made of it.
Nor was it ever found out how the child had been carried off. But carried off he had been by the gypsies, and taken away to a country among hills between Worcester and Hereford.
In that country was a valley with a river running deep at the bottom. There were many trees and bushes, rocks and caves and holes there. Indeed, it was the best possible place for the haunt of wild people.
To this place the gypsies carried the little boy, and there they kept him all the following winter, warm in a hut with some of their own children.
They stripped him of his velvet and feathers and lace and golden clasps and studs, and clothed him in rags and daubed his fair skin with mud. But they fed him well, and after a little while he was quite happy and contented.
Perhaps the cunning gypsies hoped that during the long months of winter the child would quite forget the few words he had learned to speak distinctly in his father’s house. They thought he would forget to call himself Edwy, or to cry, “Oh, mamma, mamma, papa, papa! come to little Edwy!” as he so often did. They taught him that his name was not Edwy, but Jack, or Tom, or some such name. And they made him say “mam” and “dad” and call himself the gypsy boy, born in a barn.
But after he had learned all these words, whenever anything hurt or frightened him, he would cry again, “Mamma, papa, come to Edwy!”
The gypsies could not take him out with them while there was a danger of his crying like that. So he never went with them on their rounds of begging and buying rags and telling fortunes. Instead, he was left in the hut, in the valley, with some big girl or old woman to look after him.
It happened one day, in the month of May, that Edwy was left as usual in the hut. He had been up before sunrise to breakfast with those who were going out for their day’s begging and stealing. After they had left, he had fallen asleep on a bed of dry leaves. Only one old woman, who was too lame to tramp, was left with him.
He slept long, and when he awoke he sat up on his bed of leaves and looked about him to see who was with him. He saw no one within the hut, and no one at the doorway.