The record-union., 1894-09-08

restless In movement, and full of that
petulant resentment to change, so true
ana pathetic a seal upon the overripe fac
ultles OF old age.
Gypsy lasses, ever demure in the pres
ence OF potent act or fact in their elders,
put miracles of winsome physical and
heart free abandonment in Joyous hours,
looked twice their age in their long
gowns and faces, while the gypsy dogs,
those rare, sad-visaged, voiceless cheats,
whose pretense of sodden ignorance out
gypsy the siyest Romany themselves, sat
ranged at deferential distances from the
campires. the embodiment of dreary
dolefulness.
But l could see that tinker Zeke's fore
bodlngs were not wholly those indefina-
ble touches of melancholy which stir the
loWllest heart in the sadGening autumn
days, and emerging from our tent L
placed my hand softly on his shaggy old
mead asking him sympathetically:
Zeke, tell me truly what worries you
this morning"
de looked up in my face for moment
with, strange gypsy look which reads
slowly but searchingly to the end. Then
he drew me down beside him and re-
turned my question with another one
earnestly:
Long Ger yer gorgio ways did ye
ne'er ha' summat as wus th' best part o.
> >
Questions had ever been the other way
between us, but l wonderfully nodded
my head.
AN tn more ye tried t. keep it by ye
th' more it crep' away like?"
Again l nodded assent.
AN yer likin' an carin' an worritin',
'stead o. bringin' 'tother thing closer,
KEEP sorter edgin' 'tother thing fur an
furder away.
"Why, yes, Zeke," 1 replied concern
edly. "Y ou surely have no trouble like
that?"
AN ye just lost art" he continued
doggedly, 'an' th' skies kinder come
down low like an shet ye in a. alone by
yerseP?"
"Well, well, wellI' 1 could only an
swer.
"Wait till ye gifts old, an w'athever ye
'as drops hout little by little!' he re-
torted grinding one huge fist into the
other open palm.
| reflected that gypsy old age had few
CHEEKY tiresldes at which to doZe and
Groom, and | found my hand pattlng his
rough shoulders comlortingiy.
Thar wuz Ephe an Boze-they went
to M eriky an IL ne'er come back. Thar
wuZ Cetta an leila. They went an got
book larnin' am married above us, am
they be good as dead. Then Betty, oP
wife, went wiz tn fever, an Hi amt been
arf man sense"
''But there's your daughter. Sophronia,
over yonder, Zeke." l suggested encour-
agingly, motioning toward that lively
young gypsy, who, after spirited race
and struggle on the moor with old Zeke's
donkey, was at that very moment vic
toriously bringing the stubborn animal
into camp.
"Hirs 'er Him losin' an she's th'
last!"
Losing Sophronia, Zekew exclaimed
incredulously.
Hits Phrony, an no hother!'
''To one of the lads in camp, Zeke?"
Lord, no, no! L could put hup wiz
thatr
l was half in love with the 1.-the and
lively gypsy lass myself. and the disclos-
ure gave me more than vagarous emo
ton OF curiosity.
Who is the lucky fellow, Zeke?" 1
anxiously inquired.
"Ee arn't no lucky fellow, w'atsum-
deyer. Ee's Lunnon wagabone, an
that's wat worrits me sore."
Isn't there any way to separate them,
Zeke?''
''No way 'thout murderin' one o. 'emr'
well, well, that's badl Do you mind
my speaking to Phrony about it?"
"Taillin' won't mend 'er. But ye can
do as ye loikes."
talking about her, for she observed us
keenly, from time to time, while busted
in feeding aud harneSSing the donkey,
and obeying my gesture she was beside
us with a bound, looking sharply from
one TO the other.
l led her into the tent and bade old
Zeke follow, which he did hulkingly and
with glowering face.
"Phrony," L began, not knowing just
which tack TO follow, 'I've known you
and Zeke long, long time"
80 you 'as, SIR"
''Since you were a tiny little chauvie,
Phrony."
Down at 'oP pickin' in Kent" she
added quietly.
Your mother was alive then, Phro-
ny?"
"Ay, ay, SO she wus. sure"
"You must miss her dreadfully at
times? She was strong, brave woman,
Phrony."
"oh, ay. Hits fayther as takes on
most!"
The soddenness of the little heathen
piqued me. Tinker Zeke felt it, too, for
he groaned and shook his head.
'lour father is getting old, Phrony?n
"Ay, too old fur th' drom troadl."
"And you'll want a husband of your
own-tonr or live years from now, Phro-
ny?"
She gave us both a startled look and at
tempted to leave the tent. L held her
back gently and came straight to the un-
pleasant subject.
Wont you wait until you get a fine,
brave Ronlany lad, Phrony-one that'll
treat you as you deserve and be some
comfort to poor old Ecker"
HIS tired o. dickerin' and dukkerin'
on th' road"
She said this sullenly, and the old
gypsy groaned again.
'Io ou wouldn't be happy in London,
Phrony."
"Nouldn't Hi, though!n
Here her eyes dashed at the bright
pictures her strange fancy painted OF life
in great city,"
~ our heart would pine tor the free
dom of the tent and road"
Hits pinin' = git free o. it now; that's
W at It ls!' said the obdurate little heath
en- with a toss of her pretty head.
But what will Zeke do alone without
daughter or wife to fettle him up?' per-
sisted, attempting TO reach some chord
of tilial feeling and compassion.
His told lin many time an oft.D
she replied stoutly.
shed ave me arm wat Hi call a reo'-
lar 'ard penny, smotherin' in Lunnon
streets!" interrupted Zeke vehementIy.
HID starve an choke at hit.' he added
with shuddering shrug of his huge
frame.
"Higgletypiggletym she snorted in dis
dain. Wat ha' ye gotten fur a. yer
years on th drom? Th' moke donkey