Morning journal and courier., 1894-01-13

For its "CheeI cheer' when the bobbiss come; Then its aCheoi cheel''--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 gipsiss; every face, from spae- wife to chauvie, aglow with the to them irreprsssible humor of the song. Some of the men aang in wonderful baritone, and powerful bass voices were heard. The women and children carried the soprano, rich, hearty, eloquent; and many an old and toothless woman lifting her tones to thrilling falsetto sang clear and true above all the, rest.
 How they saug, thought It was as if one voice and spirit were bent on reveal ing the whole strange, weird drama of the tent and the road. The melody, too, was almost lyric in It's fitness to the brave situ- stions disclosed; the whole concluding with the msrvelously rollieking and vocif- srous refrain
 sTar better bs lying than crying!-"
 immediately upon which the entire band indulged in . glorious frolio, wherein
 many an old dame found herself being carried above stout Ripsy heads to the cov- cred wagons to complete her toilet, and tinker Feb himself wss many 8 time gent merrily to grass, finally being tossed over the fence int, young hazel copss for rais- ira the aoceDtable disturbance!
 Tinker Z.D, recovering his breath while still laughing uproarously, had just part cd the hazel branches with his hand pre- paratory to returning to camp by way of the open farm lot and road, when his eyes met 8 pitiful sight. An old woman lay prostrate among the dew wet graves few | rods distant, her white face pressed close to . narrow mound of earth, and her thin arms claspsd tightly around the little weed stained stone at it's head.
 A few bound like those of some ponder ous animal brought Feb bsside her. He peered sharply in her fscs, placed his car upon her breast, and then beloved out, s'Everlastin' hammers and topgsl Wat hever he's tn matter wi Grandma 'Ulll" He lifted her in his arms and carried her into camp as lightly as though she had been an Infant; with few quick words in Romany to his companions he left her ten derly nurssd by the women in Chief Stan ley's tent; and hurryin9 away in . few minutes had returned with Mary Hull, who, ghostly white but with something of the calm of her mothers early days in her quiet eyes. sst straight about reviving the broken old life; while Jane and Josh, trem bling in feeble helplessness and ter TOT, soon crouched and mosned beside the hopeless pair.
 Tnsn these strange gipsy folk, marvel com passion, drew from Mary and Josh the whole sad tale: Of the eoldier-lad who had suddenly stopped writing to his moth- or and had never returned, though the ever-and never despairing mother heart re- fueed to believe him dead; of debt grow ing to obligation, and 1t in turn to encum- brance, which had swallowed even the life- time savings of loyal Jane and Josh, leav- ing them weekly staring at the poor-house door ss at an opon grave, and which was to take Maple Hill farm forever from Grandma Hull this very day; and, finally, of the one relentless hand that had swept hops and peace from this wrecked victim of her own good deeds, snd ripened the ruin of dsfsnceless home; when poor old Josh in an agony of helplessness pipsd out:
 ''Its all tho doin's-cuss himl-of old | Stlas-" 'Slaterl"
 The whole camp hissed the name with
 lowering brows that told of gipsy dread ! and hate.
 Az if the old one is ever ready at call, at ! this moment smart open buggy in which l sat two men-one Q weazsned old man, with a frowsy white head dropped al- ! most out of sight between thin, peaked | shoulders: the other, 8 hard-faced, eff ! constabl.-was driven from the highway into the edge of the camp. The youpgs1 man bawlsd out blusteringly:
 sSeuire Slater here owns this ranch
 srter noon to-day. You fellers kin he1
 jsss twsnty-four hours to mosey outel
 thisl Dye hesr3'
 "I'n jail sv'ry one if they don't. Tel
 lem that, Jeff. Tell lem, too," shriskst
 the old wretch with a savage gesture of hi
 shrivellsd hsnd towards Maple Hill farm
 house, "that old fool goes. too. She's rul
 she, Jeff"
 "Not a dsrned red cent. You fsller
 better hustle nowl" And with this tn precious pair drove rapidly away toward
 Nilltown, the county scat, twelve mile distant.
 There were quick movements about tn ; camp, but not of preparations for hast
 flight. Low and rapid consultations b leaders were held: In one group the elink ing of gold could be distinctly heard. Tn name of a certain Milltown lawyer wa , more than once spoken under tbei l breaths. Three of the best horses wer saddled, and shortly three huge gipsies
 Chief Stanley, Elias Wharton, whose wifi seemed to be earnestly urging him on, an E | kindly Feb Boswell, were upon their back | skimming like swallows along the pleasan highway in the direction the Squire an constable had taken. They soon overtool } l the conveyance, and as they passed } Chief Stanley said almost apologetically | the Squire and his companion: "Hus be jess ridin' up to Milltown fu summat as we needs sfore breakin' camp. II "All right, Gip;" returned Jeff surlily "Mossy Tong. Quicker ye git back ar | git out, the bsttsrI" and with c respeetfu "Thsnkse, sirs," from all, the three 1r
 creassd their spsed and had soon plsce miles between themselves and the Mspl
 Valley representatives of the law. The sun had scarcely turned the shad east across the psrturbed camp, when tw , we'll favored men of perhaps thirty year | of age strolled into ike little grove, fror l the old highway which leads from the cit of Boston to the grand New England hilll | The face of one who carried . portfoli was full of eager interest as he surveye , | tho picturesque scene. His companio
 was young New York author. His wri , | tiDgs upon the Romany race were alread
 artist friend, Joe Beale, from Philadelphi to this out. f-the-wsy New Eogland moo to assist him in securing additional illus trations for his new volume, "With a Ancient Race" For . famous and prcf porous man there was q strange sadness f
 his face and huskinsss in his voice as b , eonversed with his artist friend, now an
 then peering through the naples toward the gray old farmhouse on the hill, o1 , closer still, over upon the huddled grave beyond the hazel copse.
 They csme along together, the artist al
 ready impati-ntly fumbling at his sketc book, and the author batting this dog, ths chsuvis, or another racklis. upon ths hea
 or nodding familisrly to one or another c the lads or men, until close beside Chic Stsnley's tent. whom he said pleasantly i their own language to the group still Hr gsring there:
 els your rom (ehieD about the campa am known to many of your people as tn gorgio chal (the non-gipsy gipsies' friend have brought friend with me, and " ) would like to remain here . little" 't la the words of gipsy welcome that in ! stsntly came and the scurrying of gips . feet to do him honor, g sudden osmmotio } was heard within the tent. It was Jan
 Tooker. who first screeched out:
 "Lord, I know'd sunthn' d happen!"
 "I'll be gol danged to all 'tarnityl" pipe
 Josh.
 ''Its himl MaryI-Its him!-DickI r