Part 5 (2/2)
Grandfather eyed him shrewdly, and, as the man pa.s.sed the gate, he spoke.
”Sarishan,” said Grandfather.
The man stopped short and looked Grandfather straight in the eye.
”Sarishan, rye,” answered the man.
Grandfather Whiting laughed and shook his head.
”No, no,” said he. ”I'm no rye, and 'sarishan' is all the Romany I know.
But I wanted to see whether you would answer me. There are not many Romanies to be seen about here nowadays. Are there?”
The man shook his head and moved on. After a pause, he began his whistling again.
”What is it, Grandfather?” asked Susan. ”What were you saying? Who is that man?”
”He is a gypsy,” answered Grandfather, watching the man out of sight, past the schoolhouse and round the bend of the road. ”I thought so when I saw him, so I spoke to him in Romany or gypsy talk. I said, 'Sarishan.' That means, 'good-day.' I'm surprised he answered me. They generally pretend not to understand.”
”Sarishan,” repeated Susan. She liked the soft pretty word. ”But what did he call you, Grandfather?”
”He called me 'rye.' That means a gentleman. A Romany rye is a gypsy gentleman. Some people like gypsy life, Susan, and know and understand the gypsies better than others do. Sometimes they slip away and live with the gypsies for a time. And this man thought I was one of them because I spoke to him in Romany.”
Susan wanted to ask Grandfather what gypsy life was like. But the man Grandfather was to see on business drove up just then, so she slipped across the road to the deserted schoolhouse, and, bringing out her own little broom which she kept under the porch, she proceeded to give the steps and the walk a thorough sweeping.
This housewifely task ended, she seated herself on the steps, for she thought the squash baby needed an afternoon nap. Tied round the handle of the broom was a little blue cloth that Susan used for a duster. It was new and clean, so she fastened it round the neck of the squash baby as a cloak, and so rocked the baby to and fro and hummed a little song.
It was quiet on the schoolhouse steps. The shadows crept silently across the road, so silently that they did not disturb a little head pillowed on the hard boards of the porch.
The flowers and gra.s.ses in the neglected yard stirred and rustled in the afternoon breeze, just beginning to spring up, but all they murmured was ”Hus.h.!.+ Hus.h.!.+” The bees hummed and buzzed busily about among the flowers, one inquisitive young fellow, who knew no better, actually lighting on Susan's gay hair-ribbon, as if he thought it a new kind of blossom. But the little mother did not stir, for the very song the bees sang was a lullaby.
So that Susan's nap was long and refres.h.i.+ng, and when at last she woke and stretched her stiff little arms and legs, she discovered that she was hungry.
”You stay here, baby,” said she, firmly planting the ever-smiling squash baby upon the steps. ”I'll be back in a minute with a cooky for you.”
Susan trudged leisurely up Featherbed Lane. Near the end she halted, and, leaning on the garden wall, stared with interest over at the Tallman house.
The sound of crying was plainly to be heard floating out upon the air.
The dismal wails grew louder, and then the door opened and Phil's father appeared.
He walked with a determined air to the big lilac bush near the foot of the steps, and, pulling out his pen-knife, carefully selected and cut off a stout little branch.
”It's a switch,” thought Susan, terror-stricken. ”Oh, me, it's a switch.”
At this moment the door was flung open again, and out upon the porch darted a little figure. Its face was red, its arms were whirling, it was dancing up and down and crying all at once. But, nevertheless, as Susan peered closely, she saw that it was Phil. There was no doubt about that.
His friend on the other side of the fence held her breath at the sight.
Oh, how sorry she was for him! She knew just how badly he felt. She, too, would have been dancing in a frenzy if, a little earlier that afternoon, she had seen Grandfather cutting a switch.
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