The record-union., 1894-02-03

among tnem, anu when the Qrlpplng /
fogs tapped ghostily from the Delaware,
or the storms pelted them under cover
frcm the street edge, they often sat close
about her and sheltered her as best they
could.
In the meantime Boze, NANCY, gaunt /
and griZzled BoZe, Jared worse in his /
earlier contact with city life. Nothing !
could persuade him to return from the
cottage to the Wissahickon camp. He
followed Baba Syria gingerly to the thick
OF the town, and here for time, true
gypsy that he was, ne loitered and lodged
and skulked. Hours after his mistress
was buried from sight among the busy
| market throngs, he would appear trem-
bling and painting beside her to crawl
beneath the folds of her shawl or gown.
Then some impatient foot would find
him out, and, with piteous, screeching
yelp and smOthered howl, the terrified
brute, assailed by humping vegetables,
dubbed with carters' slaves, or cut by
greengrocers' singing whips, would fly
the hated town, crawling into Wayside
| hedge to lick his hurts and await Baba
Sy'ra's coming, when he would joyfully
| leap about her all the way to their little
cottage home. But by and by BoZe won
| his place among the buStling market
crowds. Basket Baba's Boze," he was
called at last and his steadfastness and
loyalty to Baba syria and her quest
| bits of meat now frequently tossed to
his grizzled maw from friendly butch
erS stalls.
AS the pitiful quest went on, back at
the cottage and the camp, these heather
gypsy lives, untouched by exalted Gen.
tile wisdom and untainted by that higher
| civilizations cunning which so often
dextrously makes of apparent sacrifice a
subtle means of gain, were almost wholly
devoted to the loving toll of lessening the
bitter hours of Baba Sy'ra's remaining
days. They knew that week by week
| her strength grew less and less. They
| knew her feeble limbs could hold out but
little longer. They had known for many,
many years that which, but once spoken.
would have instantly forever dimmed the
| fast-cOnSuming fires of hope and lett the
| quivering pulses still.
Ephe made the dainty willow baskets
and cages which she sold. Bob wrought
at his rudge forge quaint trinkets, too.
| Chief Zeph, who was skilled in wood
craft, lured wild song birds from the
Wissahickon glen to her little cages,
while all the women of the camp gath
cred and tied the punches of cress, tansy,
mint, spearmint and sourgrass, which
not only made her welcome at the market
| place but gave this hungering life kindly
excuse from wandering from door to
door, where her dim old eyes scanned
every likely lass in almost savage eager
ness Even as the winter came the bands
annual ptlgrlmlng III SUMMER lands was
abandoned. They became the, to the true
gypsies of the tent and the road, con-
temptible kair rajaks, 'house lords" or
| dwellers in habitations, alongside Baba
! 'ra's cottage. When the long evenings
came they gathered, as many could, in
her little room, cheering her hours with
| tales of the road, Of gypsy adventure,
and in believing oIden gypsy ballads
| like
Jaw the drom take the road gypsy friend;
Jaw the drOm!
| May good hours with thee attend
Jaw the drOm!
| On the moor among the heather,
| In the hedge, q snug together
| In the tents WI a. a-tether
! Come each day but sunny weather,
| On the drom!
| The night ha' come, the stars are out.
The campllres twinkle i th' hedge;
| But sure as I'm gypsy lout,
| Ii hobbies sneak this camp about
The stones will rattle from the ledge,
An heads will break, my word pledge
My word L pledge, my word L pledge!
or again that roaring gypsy's tinker's
song
l work in brass and dici1er, too
With canny yak (eyel and busy vastie
| (hand);
| CuOI, ChoI k1ni0A eAey CHS dAu SGIlhe ult,
But when the rat might murks DER the blue,
| pl have a caunie (hen), maybe two
| For half dozen hungry chauvieS chldren),
| An then the tent an my own raunie (Wlfe)
while beiated Dutch farmers, drowsily
returning to the outlying farms, startled
at the unseemly ciamor and recalling the
| olden hobgoblin Tevelries of the Wissa-
hickon glen, would lash their stocky
horses into ambling speed until their up
land homes were safely gained.
AS the winter closed in upon the city
and region roundabout, Baba Sy'ra's
quest began to wane from her darkening
mind and lessening powers. Days would
elapse without Baba and Boze being seen
at the market, and even when they came
| the women noticed that old Syria seldom
spoke. Then they would settle her
down in corner where the biting wind
could not reach her, gather sacks and
horse rugs about her, sell the trities which
she brought, and as the hustle of the day
was done, press the little money they had
gained into her withered hand and start
her homeward with sharp orders to BoZe
to mind his mistress closely, the while
purring pleadings to the wrecked old life
to bide at home until the summer came,
and, with it, they would kindly whisper
in her eager ear Griselda and the flow
ers.
One bitter November evening found the
two old pilgrims, while on their home
ward way from the market, standing gaz-
ing into the window of a basement cottage,
whose little brass door plate bore the le-
gend "City Missionary" alongside a
tumble-down. desolate mission chapel in
the oldest quarter of the city. a COM
Portable looking man sat inside of the
cottage window munching an apple and
contentedly humming psalm. Accus-
toned as he was to contact with every
pitiable form and expression of forlorn
human life, The intensity of the old
woman's gaze disturbed him. Hestepped
to the door and asked her kindly enough.
but in that perfunctory way long assocla-
ton with the lowly often gives,
"Well, mother, what's wantin'?"
81 Jess want Griselda."
The missionary put his head inside the
door and carried on a brief conversation
with "a querulous tired voice-perhaps
the voice OF wife who loDged more for a
peaceful home on earth than the promise
of palm shaded palaces beyond the hori
Zon of human needs.
Never but one Griselda known about
here" he at last answered. Better run
home, mother. Shouldn't be out. Bad
night coming on, sure. Our Griselda
was on the books long time ago. Died
nigh twenty years since. Lovely death!
Leaned on the strong Arm to the last.
Hope you lean on the strong Arm. too,
mother? But our Griselda was white"
he concluded shiveringly, getting inside
the door and glanciDg at the wrinkled,
tawny face above him. Couldn't been
yours. Run along home, now; there's