The record-union., 1894-04-07

| lOOkIng Inelf CHILDISH sympathy rOH
their big and wondering eyes, and the
old tinker's hand more than once rested
lovingly upon some tiny, frowsy head
with pattings and caressings, as he re-
membered the hours when he had been
| their Joyous butfoon and playmate
guide.
While the preparations were going on
+ the Chief called Bob aside and counted
out some coin. A portion was in yellow
| pieces, but the most was in silver. Sep
arating the money into equal parts, he
gave one share to the tinker and put the
| other into a leather wallet. remarking:
This is for Cetta, Bob. She'll git it all
at her wedding"
"We'en she's married, she'll git fur
more than that" Bob answered with
! flashing eyes.
The Chief gave him puzzled look, but
! left him and soon returned with guam
tity OF food and an old shoe filled with
rice. He gave the tinker the food and
stood holding the shoe in his hand as he
| watched the men at their work.
! The old donkey had been harnessed
and hitched to its cart. The tent had
| been taken down, carefully folded, and
Bob's bedding put with it in the rickety
vehicle. A crooked iron kettle stick,
sessions, and some pots and kettles fol-
lowed. Then the little forge and the
tinker's wheel were put in place and were
well secured with ropes.
This done, Bob Stanley took his donkey
by the bridlebit and started to leave the
camp. He came back quickly and i'm
pulsively, gathered few gypsy children
IN his arms, one by one. Rugged them to
his shaggy old breast and kissed them
tenderly. Then he passed from man to
man bidding them each good-by, started
for his donkey'S head again, but turned
before he had reached it, and, after big
gulp as ii 10 conquer his emotion, said,
feelingly, to the silent, tawny throng:
Lads an men, all: never done one
o. ye wrong, beknownst, not one. If ye
e'er had likin' fur OF Bob Stanley. an it
bides wP ye little Wen Pm gone, jess
jess make ii as easy an conf table as We
kin fur Cetta, back thar wiz th' women
folk. An that's all Hive got t. ask o.
hvin' creetur Oh yearthr'
The good-bys were subdued which fol-
lowed him, Tor Chief Reynolds walked
beside him down the dusty road.
They trudged along in silence for a
mile or more, when the tinker's compan-
ion stopped and spoke:
bob, Hi must go back now. Hus'H
break camp at noon Iur th' White Noun
tains fur th' summer. Keep straight on
yersep towards Portland"
They were standing midway between
the hamlets of Dingley's and Raymond
on the old coach road, leading past the
romantic Lake Sebago over the New
Hampshire Mountains to the Canadian
border.
"Hits like putin away my own
brother, Bob, but ye knows bein' true
gypsy is llvin' up to gypsy laws"
Here the Chief flung the rice from the
old shoe over Bob, his donkey and his
cart for kindly good luck, and tossed
the shoe into the cart beside the forge and
wheel. Bob shook the grains from his
clothing resenttully and looked Chief
Reynolds squarely in the face.
"If bein' gypsy" said he solemnly. sis
bein' beast enough t. STAN by am see a
gals heart a-breakin', like Cetta's, with
out raisin' band, then Hi prays every
drop o. blood in my body this minute
turns Gorgio, am stays sich t. th' end o.
my nat'ral lite!'
lie raised his hand as if taking oath
while say in this, and without further
word the men parted, each going his diff
ferent way.
Gypsy, though he was, tinker Bob
could not but realize the tremendous
change that few hours had wrought in
his affairs. Merry hearted, kind and
true, life had previously brought the Ro-
many wanderer few stormy days or
scenes. He was now an outcast of out
castsl The sky above him was as full as
ever of sunshine, the pine trees beside
the roadway still held all their weird and
tender threnodies, the thrill of joy had
not left the voices of the birds, but all
these blessed things to the nature-loving
heart within his shaggy breast were now
rayiess, IrresponSIye and still. The
world had suddenly grown voiceless and
dark about him, and he trudged along
over hill and through valley, beneath the
I III Mn
piteous cry from his heart, inaudibly
breaking upon his set and QuiYering
lips Of
Gorgio friendW
Not infrequently in this life of ours the
true-heart prayer is speedily and happily
answered.
At Raymond hamlet is an ancient tav-
ern where Hawthorne, when a joyous
country lad, daily lounged and waited
for the coming of the mailcoach from old
Portland by the sea.
Still dazed and spiritless Bob came with
donkey and cart beneath the shadows OF
the gabled inn and sank down upon the
ground to think while and rest. The
tinker dozed for little and his donkey
nibbled at the grass beside him, but TIL g
gypsy was soon awakened by voices
from the parlor window of the inn above
his head. He could also hear Leroy, the
stable boy of the Raymond Tavern, chat
tering in stable-boy fashion, to horses
standing by the inn porch, just around
the corner, with the stamping of the
horses feet and the jingling of their har-
ness as the animals fretted impatiently
for the stable or the road.
"If you're quite sure it's Reynolds
band of gypsies, Mrs. Smith," said one
of the voices anXiously, II may wish to
remain here at your fine old tavern for
several days"
"Well. Mr.. Northup." replied bland
old lady, "a body can't be sure of emmy
thing these days, and gypsies in partic' lar.
Nv, but amt they passel of vaga-
bonds, thought
Not all, Mrs. Smith; not all. There
are two gypsies in that band as true and
right as any Christian folk ever born and
bred.o
"Myl Hope you amt set on them
pesky gypsy gals?" returned Mrs. Smith
polishing and readjusting her spectacles
with kindling interest.
"Only one of them," was the laughing
reply.
find a sweetheart round Bosting er NJ W
York. I've heerd there's thousands ju ST
perishin' for men. You must be clean
gone crazy!''
Not thousands, Mrs. Smith; hundreds
of thousands. But numbers don't max Q
love. Besides, no man is crazy who
knows what he wants in this world. and
then never turns to the right or the left
until he gets it."
THAT lasts jest exactly what my man
said when he was courtin' me, forty year