Part 33 (2/2)

Nor were they denied food. The Gypsies evidently had no intention of maltreating the captives in any particular as long as they obeyed and did not try to escape.

One young woman brought a great pan of stew and bread and three spoons to the van and set it on the upper step for the children.

”You eat,” said she, smiling, and the firelight s.h.i.+ning on her gold earrings. ”It do you goot--yes?”

”Oh, Miss Gypsy!” begged Tess, ”we want to go home.”

”That all right. Beeg Jeem tak-a you. To-morrow, maybe.”

She went away hurriedly. But she had left them a plentiful supper. The three were too ravenous to be delicate. They each seized a spoon and, as Sammy advised, ”dug in.”

”This is the way all Gypsies eat,” he said, proud of his knowledge.

”Sometimes the men use their pocket knives to cut up the meat. But they don't seem to have any forks. And I guess forks aren't necessary anyway.”

”But they are nicer than fingers,” objected Tess.

”Huh? Are they?” observed the young barbarian.

After they had completely cleared the pan of every sc.r.a.p and eaten every crumb of bread and drunk the milk that had been brought to them in a quart cup, Dot naturally gave way to sleepiness. She began to whimper a little too.

”If that big, bad Gypsy man doesn't take us home pretty soon I shall have to sleep here, Sister,” she complained.

”You lie right down on this bench,” said Tess kindly, ”and I will cover you up and you can sleep as long as you want to.”

So Dot did this. But Sammy was not at all sleepy. His mind was too active for that. He was prowling about the more or less littered van.

”Say!” he whispered to Tess, ”there is a little window here in the front overlooking the driver's seat. And it swings on a hinge like a door.”

”I don't care, Sammy. I--I'm sleepy, too,” confessed Tess, with a yawn behind her hand.

”Say! don't _you_ go to sleep like a big kid,” snapped the boy. ”We've got to get away from these Gyps.”

”I thought you were going to stay with them forever.”

”Not to let that Big Jim bang me over the head. Not much!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Sammy fiercely. ”If my father saw him do that--”

”But your father isn't here. If he was--”

”If he was you can just bet,” said Sammy with confidence, ”that Big Jim would not dare hit me.”

”I--I wish your father would come and take us all home then,” went on Tess, with another yawn.

”Well,” admitted Sammy, ”I wish he would, too. Crickey! but it's awful to have girls along, whether you are a pirate or a Gypsy.”

”You needn't talk!” snapped Tess, quite tart for her. ”We did not ask to come. And you were here 'fore we got here. And now you can't get away any more than Dot and I can.”

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