The record-union., 1894-01-13
/ V.
sUNTHN' HAPPENS.

Another ten years had come and gone
The sweet sunshine was flooding into
Maple Valley, back there among the now
verdure-softened New England hills. 1t
was an early morning in May, and but
few sounds broke the stiffness of the
great gypsy camp in the grove alongside
the highway on Maple Hill farm The
birds above, and rollicling old tinker,
Zeb Boswell, among the handsome wag-
ons and hooded tents below, were having
all to themselves the glory of the opening
day.
Soon tinker Zeb beloved out in hearty
song the refrain of an old Yorkshire
gypsy ballad, when, as if by magic every
mem ber of the drOwSy camp seemed
astr Smothered voices in the close
hooded tents took up the melody. Grin
ming heads, musical as the morning, pro-
truded from the snug wagon covers.
Half-dressed gypsies came into sight
everywhere. AS if possessed by some
swift and unaccountable spirit of mirth-
full mischief, all seemed ready for frolic.
The tinker repeated the refrain. More
and more voices Joined. Zeb looked up
from his mending knowingly, conscious
of the ballads power upon his fellows,
and, after briskly patting some dogs
which had bounded to his side as if they
too knew the merriment in store, began
the roaring song OF
IT'S 'CHEE, CHEZ WHEN THE boobies COME.
on the drom troad) there's much that is try
ing.
Make dickering do for thy buying,
Be as wise as an owl;
But If hobbies should prOWl
Just give them "a lesson in lying!
LOOK them square in the yak (eye)
II they warn ye
Hit them plump in the max (nose)
1t they scorn ye!
For it's ''cnee, chee' when the hobbies come;
Then It's ''chee, chee'' when the hobbies come,
Far better be lying than crying!
On the drom there's much that is trying;
Listen soft when the grye (horse) is a-shying,
When the dugal dog lies low
Get behind tie hedge row.
For then the sly hobbies are prying
Look them square in the yak
For thy raunie lwifeG
Hit them plump in the max
- Save thy caunie then, fowl!
For it's ''chee, Chez when the boobies come.
Then its "cnee, ehee" when the hobbies come,
Far better be lying than crying!
Gradually moving to the center of the
camp from all directions still singing
came the gypSles, every face, from spae-
wife to chauvie, aglow with the, to them 4
irrepressible humor of the song. Some OF
the men sang in wonderful baritone. and
powerful bass voices were heard The
women and children carried the soprano.
rich, hearty. eloquent, and many an old
anu tOothleSS woman lifting her tones to a
thrilling falsetto sang clear and true above
all the rest.
How they sang. thought 1t was as if
one voice and spirit were bent on reveal
ing the whole strange, weird drama of
the tent and road. The melody. too. was
almost lyric in its fitness to the brave Sit
uations disclosed, the whole concluding
with the maryelously rollicking and vo-
ciferous refrain,
Far better be lying than cryingl-
Immediately upon which the entire band
indulged in a glorious frolic. wherein
many an old dame found herself being
carried above stout gypsy heads to the
covered wagons 10 complete her toilet.
and tinker Zeb himself was many a time
sent merrily to grass, finally being tossed
over the fence into young hazel copse
for raising the acceptable disturbancei
Tinker Zeb, recovering his breath
while still laughing uproarously, had
Just parted the hazel branches with his
hand preparatory TO returning to camp
by way OF the open farm lot and road.
when his eyes met a pitiful sight. An
old woman lay PROSTATE among the dew
wet graves few rods distant, her white